


New Fillory

by NinaSky



Category: The Magicians (TV), The Magicians - Lev Grossman
Genre: Brakebills (The Magicians), F/M, Fillory (The Magicians), M/M, Multi, Post-Season/Series 05 Finale
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:28:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25615903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NinaSky/pseuds/NinaSky
Summary: A tribute to a season 6 I would love to see for the amazing show: The Magicians. So sad to see it canceled and channeled my upset into writing. Hope you enjoy!NB: I am British and so have tried to stick to British grammar. Which isn't my strong suit.Chapter 1 follows Alice, Fen, Josh and Margo on New Fillory, as well as Eliot, Dean Fogg and Charlton back on Earth.
Relationships: Charlton & Eliot Waugh, Charlton/Eliot Waugh, Margo Hanson & Eliot Waugh, Margo Hanson & Josh Hoberman, Margo Hanson/Josh Hoberman, Quentin Coldwater & Alice Quinn, Quentin Coldwater/Alice Quinn
Comments: 6
Kudos: 11





	1. After the Great Unrapturing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tribute to a season 6 I would love to see for the amazing show: The Magicians. So sad to see it canceled and have channeled my upset into writing. 
> 
> This story follows all our old characters, mentions a few others, and introduces a handful of new characters where useful. New characters: Annabelle (Eliot's sister) - I might write her in further down the line, and Flinn (A New Fillorian, royal mapmaker, and possibly a love interest for Fen, who deserves one don't you think?) The plot follows loosely the kinds of plot arches we've seen in previous seasons. An unnamed terror, personal crises to contend with, and entwined throughout like vines in an Italian courtyard, the character's relationships, both platonic and otherwise. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!
> 
> NB: I am British and so have tried to stick to British grammar. Which isn't my strong suit.
> 
> Without giving too much away, Chapter 1 follows Alice, Fen, Josh, and Margo in New Fillory as they work to establish society and structure. We see Eliot struggling with the loss of Margo on top of Quentin in new ways. Dean Fogg makes an appearance, and we explore Charlton and Eliot's newfound love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post chapter 6 note: chapter 6 contains a more explicit M/M sex scene at the end, I've added this as a small warning. Also, please bear with me as I find my feet with writing. I hope to improve as I go along and then come back and redraft these initial chapters.

\-----  
Margo  
\-----

It was three months since the birth of New Fillory. Three long, stressful months.

Margo massaged her temples and slumped lower in her makeshift throne. All around her the sounds of sawing and hammering; the barks of orders from Archibald, the head of construction; the clamour and clatter of castle Whitespire slowly being rebuilt bored its way into her skull which at the moment felt like a fragile glass case housing a pulsing ball of pain.  
Another sickening headache. 

She reached over for her goblet, still half full of the pain-relieving elixir Josh had made for her that morning, and she gulped it down sighing as the liquid flooded her veins with blissful relief. 

It hadn’t been Margo’s intention to build another castle Whitespire. She’d wanted a luxurious hotel complete with a spa and swimming pool, comfortable conference rooms, and deluxe suites with minibars and room service. But first among the ever-increasing list of demands to assault her came from the castle guards, spearheaded for some reason she hadn’t quite understood by Pree, an over-eager, permanently happy girl she vaguely remembered meeting a lifetime ago dressed in cosplay as Fen. The guards wanted the castle. Period. And Margo could see their reasoning. What was the point of castle guards without a castle to guard? Plus, as Josh had pointed out, familiarity would help ease the transition from Old to New Fillory. So, she’d relented. Or almost. New castle Whitespire would be having modern plumbing, hot power showers, and if she had her way, a small spa attached. 

Tick Pickwick cleared his throat and approached Margo who glowered at him. It was her time of month – again. Not the werewolf time. The red time. And the fact that old Fillory hadn’t managed to produce a decent working tampon was nothing short of barbarity. 

Last month she had tasked him with the creation of one and his creative inventions had not been welcome. She was still unconvinced he hadn’t known that the leaves of Moon Flowers contained within small but effective sharp hooks invisible to the naked eye. Yesterday, he had triumphantly produced a small cylindrical object made from these very leaves, assuring her that this time, he had the perfect product. 

That had not been a fun experience. 

Her screams were loud enough to wake the dead – again. Tick had the good sense to make himself scarce for the rest of the day. But now here he was in all his simpering pompous glory. Tick’s smile faltered as he took in the rage on her face. He held up a placating hand. ‘I assure your high kingliness, I have passed the project onto the midwives, they think they might have a, urm, better idea of what to try next.’

‘Oh they better, Tick.’ Margo ground out. ‘Or you will be experiencing first hand those fucking Moon Flower leaves and I assure you, you will not be sitting down for a week when I’m through.’ 

Tick wrung his hands and offered a nervous, apologetic bow. ‘Of course, your justness. If I may, there is another matter I must bring to your attention.’ Tick said, snapping out of his bow. His round face held the concerned expression that from experience Margo knew meant more headache for her. She sighed and nodded her consent for him to continue. ‘The reports of the earthquakes in Loria have increased and we’ve been experiencing them to the West too. Not just that, but other anomalies have been reported as well.’ He told her.

‘Such as?’ Margo pressed. She clamped down on the nerves squirreling in her stomach. This was not good news. They had no idea why these natural disasters were occurring. Had something gone wrong when they had used the Seed of Life? They’d been so sure everything was perfect before releasing everyone from the Sea Horse. But now, something was clearly amiss. And it sounded like it was getting worse. 

‘The Infinite Waterfall has stopped being, well infinite for one thing.’

‘What do you mean?’ 

‘It’s just stopped, frozen in mid-air.’ Tick explained. 

Margo scratched her head. ‘O-kay,’ she said slowly, a frown etched on her forehead. ‘What else?’ 

‘The flowers on the Rainbow Bridge have all withered and the Wandering Desert has wandered off. It hasn’t been seen in six weeks. Completely disappeared from the maps our esteemed map makers have made. One day there, the next, poof.’ He mimed the disappearance.

‘The fuck am I only hearing about this now?’ Margo snapped. 

‘Begging your apologies, your well-temperedness,’ Tick gave his best and possibly worst simpering smile, ‘but the Owls have been flying in the wrong directions and the rabbits are giving garbled messages. I’ve sent a team out myself to survey the land and only just been able to compile a full report to give you.’ 

‘Well, shit.’ Margo said simply. ‘We best get on this then hadn’t we Tick? Start with the Rainbow Bridge. Ask the, I don’t know, the flower experts or something to examine them. And get me Alice.’ Margo directed. ‘Fen too. Though leave Josh out for a bit, between designing the royal kitchens and editing the New Charter, he’s got his hands full.’ 

‘As you wish.’ Tick snapped his feet together and spirited away. 

Tendrils of the headache were creeping back. The pain-relief elixir was no longer lasting anywhere near as long as it initially had. What she would give for a hot bath, a long massage then a night having her every sexual need met and beyond by Josh. Margo drank the remaining liquid. ‘Next,’ she called out to the waiting line which stretched out of the castle and wound down the dirt path outside, brimming with citizens of New Fillory – each with pressing concerns for her to handle. She needed to start delegating.

\----  
Alice  
\----

Alice wiped the sweat off her brow as she concentrated, one-handed, on her spell work, watching as like a film sped up, brick after brick piled one on top of the other and formed walls around her. She knew a great many of the Architect’s spells. Over the years she had researched her, learning how to construct buildings quickly with magic rather than manual labour. She hadn’t mentioned it to anyone, but she’d often thought she would help build up villages in Africa after her time at Brakebills. Obviously, that wasn’t going to happen now, but the knowledge had proved invaluable these last few months. 

‘Whatcha doing?’ Out of nowhere, Fen appeared, startling Alice and breaking her concentration. She muttered under her breath as a few bricks wobbled and crashed back to the ground. 

Alice sighed. ‘I was building Brakebills. Well, a single classroom at this point, anyway.’ 

Fen’s eyes went wide. ‘Oooh!’ She said. ‘Why? Not because that isn’t a great idea or anything, just curious, you know.’

Alice hid a smile. Since the moment Margo pushed the button and the Great Unrapturing began, Margo and Josh had been thrown into action. There were times when they’d consulted Alice but largely, she’d felt ignored. It was like the old days when the popular kids ruled and Alice found she was retreating once again into herself. She didn’t mind especially; she was content doing her own projects but it was nice when someone showed an interest in her work. ‘I’m going to open up a school.’ Alice told Fen, pride lacing her words. 

‘Awesome!’ Fen enthused. ‘But ah, you don’t have any students.’ She pointed out. 

‘Not yet, no.’ Alice agreed. ‘But I’ve been noticing some children in the villages have begun to perform minor spells. I think New Fillory has magicians – or the potential for them, anyway.’ 

‘Cool,’ said Fen. ‘You mean like this?’ She held up her hands and a crown of light blue and white flowers materialised in them. 

Alice blinked in surprise. ‘Well, yes actually. When? How did you? How long have you had magic?’ she spluttered. 

Fen shrugged. ‘A few days now. I woke up one morning last week and found myself hovering over my bed. That definitely hasn’t happened before. Except maybe the time I wandered through the Flying Forest but I’m pretty sure that was just a hallucination.’ She placed the crown of flowers on top of Alice’s head. ‘Since then, if I focus hard, I’ve been managing to create small things like flowers, and this one time the knife I was practicing with sharpened itself.’

Alice offered her a rare smile. ‘You are officially my new student!’ 

Fen clapped her hands in delight and hugged Alice hard. Taken aback, but happy, Alice returned the hug. They’d become closer friends in the last three months and it was nice to feel like she had a good friend again. Her heart ached a little reminding her of her loss. Q was still there, hovering in the back of her mind and in the centre of her heart. She wondered if she’d ever stop missing him. Probably not. 

A low rumble, like the earth was growling, sounded from beneath their feet and the girls sprang apart. ‘What was that?!’ Fen cried. 

‘I- I don’t know.’ 

The ground began to shake in earnest. ‘Earthquake!’ Alice shouted in disbelief. ‘We need to find a table.’ She spun around in panic looking for a place to shelter under. There wasn’t anything. 

‘Because tables stop earthquakes.’ Fen said, nodding wisely. 

‘No just, never mind.’ Alice grabbed Fen’s hand and just in time they stepped back as the walls she had spent the whole morning creating came crashing down around them and they were knocked off their feet by the force of the earth’s shudder.  
The earthquake lasted a good minute and a half before finally petering out. Coated in a thin film of dust, the two girls stood up and stared at each other. ‘Well that was unexpected.’ Alice breathed. 

‘There were never any earthquakes in Fillory before.’ Fen said. She dusted off her dress and stared around at the remnants of the classroom. 

‘We’d best go to the castle.’ Alice said and Fen nodded in agreement. 

Alice had built herself a cottage some way away from the castle on the outskirts of a woods. It was an idyllic place. There was a large stretch of grassy land too which she thought would be perfect for the lawns of New Brakebills. It took them a good half an hour walk to reach Castle Whitespire which was less of a castle and more a throne room in the midst of a construction site. As they turned down the long winding dirt road leading up to the castle gates if that’s what they could be called – more a gap in a garden fence at this point – they met a harried-looking Tick who was flanked by two of his entourage: Rafe and Flinn who Alice remembered was the new royal mapmaker. 

‘Ah, perfect timing,’ said Tick in delight upon spotting the two of them. He ignored completely their disheveled appearance and the soot marking both of their flushed faces. ‘High King Margo, her pleasantness-even-when-on-her-time-of-the-month requests your company in the throne room.’ 

‘It’s President Margo.’ Alice snapped. ‘President. It’s not a difficult word.’ 

‘Well her Present wishes to see you,’ Rafe told them. ‘Presently,’ he added. 

Alice rolled her eyes. 

‘Good to see you guys.’ Fen said, chipper as always. 

Flinn blushed scarlet and offered her a shaky smile. ‘And you, Queen Fen.’ He stammered. Fen eyed him curiously before following Alice as they passed by the long line of Fillorians – human and animal alike – waiting to be heard and entered the throne room. 

\----  
Eliot  
\----

Eliot trailed his long-tapered fingers along the shelf of cologne in one of New York’s high-end department stores. He genuinely had no idea which one he was in. His fingers came to rest on one of Valentino’s latest fragrances. He cast a furtive glance around, and, seeing no one was watching, slipped the bottle into the breast pocket of his suit jacket relishing the feel of his heart beating a quick drum in his chest. He felt alive.

Deciding to push his luck further, Eliot wandered along a rack of silk cravats. The hustle and bustle of the department store faded into the background as his eyes honed in on a vibrant green number he thought would match his complexion nicely. He snatched it off its hanger and pushed it swiftly up his sleeve. He was just wondering if he could get away with a delicate silver bracelet too which he knew Alice would have loved when a hand clamped down on his shoulder and he spun to face an angry over-weight security guard. Eliot stared, dazzled by the guard’s bald head which shone under the florescent lights and seemed for a moment to turn into the moon. He resisted the temptation to reach out to touch it.

‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you.’ The guard spoke in a gruff voice. 

Eliot wondered if the guard had read his mind, then remembered he had just been caught stealing. ‘No, I dare say you wouldn’t,’ he said and glanced around himself. He had to admit he had completely forgotten where he was. Perhaps he shouldn’t have ingested solely shrooms for breakfast that morning. What was Margo always saying? Never have edibles on an empty stomach. That was it. Or was it don’t eat and shop? Margo. His eyes welled with tears. 

‘Look son, just come with me alright? We can sort this out.’ The guard’s face softened; his voice almost tender. Eliot surmised he must look particularly pathetic. Like a lost boy he nodded and trailed alongside the guard. He still had no idea where he was or where he was going. He realised that he didn’t care. A ghost-like figure of Margo followed him to his right, flouncing between the shelves. She pounced on a ball gown and in a blink of an eye was wearing it, spinning in delight. Crystal light danced from the fake jewels and he grinned at her. Margo, where are you? He asked in his mind. As always, she had no answer for him. 

The guard led Eliot into a small dimly lit office. He gestured to a chair on one side of a cluttered desk and Eliot slumped into it, sliding down several inches. The guard manoeuvred his impressive bulk onto the opposite chair and surveyed Eliot. Then, with a flourish of his hands, several items shot out of various hiding places within Eliot’s clothing and landed in a heap in the centre of the desk. There was way more than Eliot remembered taking. He gazed distractedly at his horde. There was the cravat, the cologne, but also several rings, a pair of cufflinks, a necklace he vaguely remembered ghost-Margo whispering in his ear for, and perhaps most impressive of all – a bowler’s hat. He definitely did not remember the bowler’s hat and had no idea where or even how he had hidden it. 

‘Oh,’ he said without interest. ‘That’s a lot of stuff.’ 

The guard sighed. ‘Indeed.’ 

With more effort than it should have taken, Eliot lifted his eyes to the guard and started. The guard had vanished and, in his place, sat Henry Fogg, a sombre expression on his face. 

‘Am I still tripping?’ Eliot asked tilting his face to one side, ‘or are you actually Fogg?’ 

‘I am.’ Fogg declared. 

‘Right.’ Eliot said and nodded. This was fine. Perfectly fine. He waited for the dean to explain why they were sitting in an office in a high-end department store in New York. The information as to where he was coming hesitantly back to him. Margo smirked, wagged a finger and vanished. Bye, thought Eliot, until next time then.

‘We have a problem here, don’t we?’ Fogg said. ‘Ordinarily, I wouldn’t give a dam about what you do out of your contracted hours but you see, you are currently in contracted hours. You have in fact, missed several lessons this week alone.’ 

‘Right,’ said Eliot, ‘sorry.’

‘I need you to get your shit together. We will find them. In the meantime, I need you to start acting your God-damned age and teach, professor.’ Eliot nodded mutely. Teach. The words echoed in his mind. ‘I’m afraid I am going to have to give you an official warning,’ continued Fogg. ‘I give precisely two before terminating a contract. You get two strikes. This is your first. Not three. I’ve always felt that is too lenient. Two is to be honest but magicians tend to be let’s just say erratic and a shit show to work with.’ Fogg stood up, pushing back the chair and raised a hand in a complicated gesture. ‘I’m going to send us back to Brakebills now. And I trust this is the last time you will be missing lessons or I will fine you into oblivion. Are we understood?’ 

Eliot nodded again. ‘Sorry, Henry.’ He muttered. Fogg ignored him and concentrated on opening the portal. The golden light of Brakebills shone through making Eliot squint. A thought occurred to Eliot. ‘Since you aren’t the actual security, I can take these?’ he said. 

Fog tossed his head impatiently. ‘I honestly don’t give a fuck, Eliot,’ he said and stepped through the portal. 

‘Right,’ Eliot said to himself. He placed the bowler hat carefully on his head, gathered the remaining stolen goods in one arm then followed the dean through to Brakebills’s luscious grounds. 

Later that evening Eliot sat in the physical cottage nursing a drink and reclining with ease on the sofa. It was unbelievably comfortable. Or would be if Charlton’s tense vibe wasn’t ruining things. 

‘You missed our anniversary,’ Charlton said, a slight tremor in his voice. 

‘Our, what now?’ Eliot asked in surprise.

Charlton swallowed. ‘Our three-month anniversary, Eliot.’ 

Eliot sat up, taken aback. Three-month anniversary? Was that a thing in Fillory? ‘Right,’ he said gathering himself together. ‘Three months… that’s a long time.’ 

‘I-I got you a present.’ 

To Eliot’s shame, he noticed that there was indeed a small, neatly wrapped box on the table beside them. ‘Oh, yes. Me too. You, I mean.’ Eliot rummaged within his suit jacket. Shit, where were they? They were somewhere around ‘here,’ he said, producing the pair of cufflinks he had stolen that day, ‘sorry they aren’t wrapped.’ Eliot swallowed his guilt as the glum look on Charlton’s face transformed in an instant into one of pure radiant joy. He took the box Charlton handed him and opened it with trepidation. Being in a relationship with Charlton was at times, a bit more than he could handle if he was being honest with himself. He was fond of him, hell at times really fucking fond of him, but Charlton was proving to be more intense, more dedicated than Eliot would like. He had no idea what could be in the box and a sudden, irrational thought crossed his mind. Was it an engagement ring? Things moved fast in Fillory after all. 

To his immense relief, he saw that it wasn’t a ring, but rather two innocent tickets laying side by side in the box. He saw they were dated for the following weekend. 

Charlton brushed a hand through his hair and looked sheepishly up at him. ‘For the opera,’ he said. ‘I know you’ve seen most of them but I thought maybe you’d still like to go with me.’ Eliot swallowed. In truth, he had never been to the opera, but his carefully crafted persona had. Many times. He nodded and touched Charlton on his knee. ‘That’s very thoughtful of you. I would love to go with you,’ he said and wondered if he genuinely meant it. To take his mind off his guilt, he said: ‘So, tell me, what does one typically do on a three-month anniversary?’ 

Charlton brightened. It was like the sun coming out from a cloudy day. ‘Well, the couple take dinner together, usually out at a fine place-’

‘A restaurant. Got it.’ Eliot nodded. 

‘That’s right, yes, and then they take in a show of some kind.’

‘So – Like a date?’ Eliot offered. 

‘Yes, I think so.’ Charlton said. ‘And then they, you know, go upstairs.’ Eliot smiled at his euphemism. It was adorable. ‘To have sex.’ Charlton clarified which was entirely unnecessary but still cute as all hell. Eliot watched the heavy flush creep up his boyfriend’s neck and spread across his cheeks. He lent in and placed a tender kiss on his mouth. ‘But, we urm, we can skip that part and just go to the bedroom.’ Charlton offered, his voice taking on a husky tone. 

‘Mmmm.’ Eliot said, his lips pressed against Charlton’s. ‘Let’s.’ He pulled Charlton to his feet and led him by the hand upstairs. He couldn’t understand Charlton much. He didn’t know how to handle his hesitant yet powerful feelings. Wasn’t sure he could even return them. But he could at least give him plenty of attention in bed. And maybe, that was enough? Eliot pushed the thought aside and focused solely on the body of his lover. Trailing kisses down his topless chest and helping him unbuckle his belt. Yes, he decided. It was enough.


	2. Following the trail of devestation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, we follow Josh, Margo, Fen and Alice (as well as a few New Fillorians) as they attempt to work out what is causing the natural disasters. We are also introduced to a new character - a strange, glowing white figure with unusual powers.

\----  
Josh  
\----

Josh leaned back in his chair and stretched. The Charter was complete. Whilst peering over his shoulder, Margo read through the forty statements they had devised.

‘Women are free to marry whomever they please, or indeed not marry at all. A woman is not the property of anyone other than herself. No being, woman, man, animal or person who defines themselves as any gender or being, cannot be forced into an arranged marriage,’ she read out loud. ‘I think that covers that,’ she said, satisfied. 

‘And I especially like this one,’ said Josh, placing a finger further down the page: ‘All beings are free to choose a job or career path for themselves,’ he read. 

Margo nodded. ‘Sounds good. So, we’ve covered free will, women equality, divorce, the bullshit can’t get it up for anyone else if married malarkey, and we’ve reformed the court system,’ she marked each one off on a finger. ‘I think that’s about all we can do for now. It’s ready.’ 

With a flourish of his hands, Josh sent a replica of the document out to every registered being of New Fillory. He turned to Margo for a celebratory high five but frowned in concern as he noticed her wincing and rubbing her forehead. ‘Another one?’ he asked. He was worried now. They were not easing up. In fact, they seemed to be getting worse. Margo had retreated to their bed on more than one occasion, curtains drawn. She claimed she was just tired, but he knew better. ‘Here,’ he stood up and offered her the seat. She took it gratefully and he set to work kneading her shoulder muscles, easing the tension. She groaned and sunk into his hands. 

‘You are a master at this,’ she said arching forward to give him better access to the back of her neck. 

It was, Josh admitted to himself, one of his many specialities. ‘It comes from kneading bread,’ he told her. ‘you wouldn’t believe how that strengthens hands.’ 

‘Oh, I know just what your hands can do,’ Margo purred. Josh drew in a sharp breath. Even in evident pain, Margo still managed to arouse him. Hell, she could arouse him with a mere look any day of the week. 

Castle Whitespire was beginning to take on shape. The outer walls were now fully erected, the spires in place, and several rooms were completed. It hadn’t escaped Josh’s notice that those rooms were predominantly ones most useful to Margo: the throne room, their bedroom, the kitchens, to name a few, but he didn’t blame her. ‘You know, this place is starting to feel like home again,’ he said and finished his massage with a kiss on the back of her neck. 

Margo mumbled her agreement and muttered something that sounded like ‘spa next,’ into her arms. He poured her another draft of the pain elixir and she took it with more enthusiasm than Josh would have liked. ‘Let’s go, Tick is waiting to give us another of his awful updates. Can’t wait to find out which disaster has befallen us next.’ They shared a grimace. 

They found Alice, Fen, and Tick alongside a number of advisers sat around a large oval table in a room recently created off to one side of the throne room, pouring over maps. 

‘There you guys are,’ Alice said doing her best to keep a reproach from her voice. It wasn’t that she resented their time alone with each other, it was just that sometimes, like now, seeing them together sent a dull pain through her heart. She realised she was feeling increasingly lonely. She wondered, not for the first time if the others would ever find them. 

It had been a month since Alice had returned to the castle. She’d divided her time between helping Tick and Rafe track the anomalies spreading throughout New Fillory, devising earthquake-proof spells for the construction work, and building New Brakebills out in the woods which she had come to think fondly of as her woods.

‘Here we are,’ Margo confirmed and took a seat at the head of the table. ‘What’s the sitch?’ Josh took the remaining vacant seat next to Fen who offered him a warm smile. 

‘Oh,’ he said, eyes wide, ‘hold that thought. I’ve canopies in the kitchen. Brain-storming food. I’ll be right back.’ He leapt off his seat and hurried to the kitchens. As usual, no-one waited for him. 

‘At first, we couldn’t see any pattern,’ Alice told Margo. ‘Things seemed to be malfunctioning pretty much at random.’ Alice traced a finger around the map tapping areas which were circled in red, Margo leaned in and could see that they were all at some distance from each other. ‘But in the past day, we’ve noticed a line forming from here,’ Alice tapped one location near what used to be called Chatwin’s torrent but was now named “The Healing Waters” which just made more sense to Margo, ‘to here,’ she tapped another location, once Umber’s Tears, now, several small paradise islands with swinging hammocks and thatched huts. They weren’t sure which of them was responsible for that addition to New Fillory but they’d appreciated having a holiday destination all the same. 

Margo tracked several smaller circles with her eyes. She could see Alice’s point, they did look sort of connected, like a meandering line between the two places. ‘Huh,’ she said. ‘What do you reckon that means?’ 

‘We’ve really no idea,’ Fen interjected. ‘But any pattern is helpful to spot. Could tell us where the next disaster will take place.’ 

‘Precisely,’ said Alice nodding in agreement. 

Josh returned with a silver platter and the scent of warm savoury food filled the air. ‘Canopy?’ he offered the room at large. Alice reached over and dropped several quickly onto a napkin; they were still piping hot. Everyone else followed suit and soon the platter was empty and the conversation gave way to contented munching. The warm snug feeling Josh got whenever he provided his companions with quality food and saw the satisfaction on their faces spread through him. He took a moment to enjoy the scene before glancing across the map and getting himself up to speed. ‘Maybe we should go to the latest disaster site?’ He suggested. ‘See if we spot anything that could help.’ 

‘Like a big sign telling us why this shitstorm is happening and a solemn promise to stop?’ Margo quipped between mouthfuls. 

Josh shrugged, ‘I’ve no idea, but can’t hurt to look?’ 

Alice nodded. ‘Josh is right. Maybe we can feel out the magic in the air and get samples from the ground, and maybe find a way to fix it or maybe,’ her face paled, ‘maybe we find some monster causing these things and, um…’ she trailed off biting her lip.

‘Destroy it,’ Margo finished for her. 

\--------------------  
A glowing white figure.  
\--------------------

He wandered through the meadow, brushing his hands against the heads of wildflowers as he went. The air smelt different somehow. Sweeter. There was a lightness in his chest he hadn’t felt in as long as he could remember. Not that he could remember much of anything. He frowned but he had learned from experience that there was no use forcing it. His memories would return, or they wouldn’t. He just had to figure out where he was. The best answer he had come up with was Fillory. But that was ridiculous. Fillory didn’t exist. It was a children’s book. 

But it sure did look and feel like the Fillory in his mind. Sort of.

A deer trotted towards him with hesitant steps. Nose quivering, it smelt the air around him, its flanks shivered as it drew in quick breaths. It was injured, he realised. He knelt down. ‘Come on little one,’ he said keeping his voice low and soothing. It glanced sideways, and, seeing no immediate danger closed the gap between them. He reached out a hand making sure to keep his movements slow and careful and patted it on the neck. ‘Now, what seems to be the problem?’ he muttered. The deer lifted a hind leg for his inspection. ‘Alright then,’ he said and placed a warm hand on the small wound he sensed under the deer’s skin. It had fallen and healed badly he could tell. Within seconds he had the wound purified, the infection drawn out and the flesh knitted back together. It nuzzled him in gratitude then bounded away to find its family once more. 

He watched its retreating form for a moment, a small part of him wishing it had stayed. He’d been alone now for several months. He couldn’t remember much of his time before this place but he had the sense that it was filled with love and connection. Now, there was nothing. He wandered some more, not in any particular direction, and came across a large oak tree. The smell of pizza made his mouth water and he looked closer at the tree in astonishment. Pizza. Growing from the tree. He shrugged. Why not? He grabbed a slice and settled himself at the base of the tree. It was good. Herby, the right amount of cheese, cooked to perfection. What a strange place, he mused.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Alice, Fen, Margo and Josh… and a few members of the Royal Guard who refused to be renamed the Secret Service.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

‘Stop the carriage,’ Alice cried. The carriage ground to a jarring halt, jolting them in their seats. 

Margo gripped the door handle to prevent herself from falling into Rafe’s lap. ‘What? What is it?’ She said, righting herself. 

‘A- A dog!’ Alice exclaimed. ‘A dog just sitting in the road.’ Margo rolled her eyes. ‘We can’t just run it over,’ Alice scowled at her, horror-struck at the thought. She leapt out of the carriage and approached the dog. It was medium-sized, black and curly all over. It swept the dusty road with its tail and panted. It was exactly the dog Alice had always wanted growing up but hadn’t been allowed. Her mother did not like dogs which struck Alice as another reason to not trust her. Not that she needed any more reasons. 

‘Hello,’ the dog barked. 

Alice started. ‘It speaks!’ she called back to the others. She heard Fen’s delighted cry and a moment later her head was poking out of the side of the carriage. 

‘Oooh, they are rare,’ Fen told her. 

‘What’s your name?’ Alice asked, bending down to fuss the dog behind its ears. He sniffed into her hands.

‘Don’t have one,’ he said leaning into the fussing. ‘Name me?’ he asked hopefully. 

Alice thought: ‘Toto’ she declared a moment later. The dog gave a small huff. ‘No? Okay, how about Chester?’ 

The dog tilted his head to one’s side, considering. ‘That will do,’ he said. 

‘Do you want to come with us?’ Alice asked him, eyes shining with joy. The dog nodded his consent and trotted happily behind her as they returned to the carriage. ‘Meet Chester.’ Alice declared to the group. 

‘Hey fella,’ Josh said giving him a pat. 

Even Margo seemed pleased, her lips twitched at the corners. ‘Well if we are all done here, shall we?’ The carriage picked up speed once again. 

They pulled up on the edge of a large meadow and clambered out of the carriage. Chester bounded out after them. ‘The last, what are we calling them? Episode?’ Tick looked around the group who shrugged in response. ‘Well the last, whatever, was somewhere over there.’ He pointed out into the meadow and they set off. Fen took a step onto the grass at the edge of the meadow then froze, blinking rapidly. 

‘What is it?’ Flinn swooped immediately to her side, fear evident on his face. 

Fen moved her mouth but no words came out. Then she said: ‘My toes.’ 

‘What about them?’ asked Josh, he peered anxiously down at her feet. 

‘They’re back!’ Fen said. ‘I can feel them.’ She ripped off her boots and presented her feet, first one and then the other, now complete with five new toes apiece. 

‘First the rare dog and now Fen’s toes? What the hairy man’s balls is going on?’ Margo demanded. Fen stared at her feet and prodded them with a finger. Her heart beat fast in her chest. 

‘It’s a miracle,’ she said in wonder. 

‘Well I’m happy for you,’ Margo told her, and meant it, ‘but let’s keep going and find the site.’ She side-eyed Fen’s feet. There was no doubt about it, this was weird. Toes did not spontaneously grow back. Not even in Fillory. 

\-------------------  
A glowing white figure  
\-------------------

He stood, stretching out his back muscles. That had been a great lunch, he decided. Surprising, but great. So far, he was loving this place. Fillory. He ran the thought over in his mind. He couldn’t come up with any other explanation. He was in Fillory. As soon as his mind had settled on the idea that Fillory might just be real, the ground began to tremble under his feet. Fillory didn’t have earthquakes though, did it? He wondered. He glanced around. The ground shook harder, nearly knocking him off his feet. The Chatwin’s never talked about them at least. Everywhere he had been, there had been an earthquake before long. It was like they were following him. 

He closed his eyes and summoned his energy. For some time now he had found himself being able to teleport. Well not teleport exactly but disperse his molecules and rearrange them elsewhere. It had alarmed him at first, not sure if he was dreaming or had gone mad. He was sure he’d never been able to teleport before. But for some reason, it had felt as natural as breathing, and in next to no time he had accepted it as his new normal.

He had been hopping in this manner all along this strange, fascinating world. He didn’t know where to go next. If Fillory was real, and that was a big if, then maybe the author would be able to answer his questions? He fixed on the thought, focusing his energy into it. His body vibrated then split. He was the air, the wind, the fire, the rocks in the mountains, the water flowing cold along the bubbling brooks. He was everything. Then he pulled himself together and rematerialised outside a Tudoresque mansion. 

\-------------------------------------  
Alice, Fen, Margo and Josh… and the others.  
\-------------------------------------

They were thrown to the ground as it grumbled and moaned beneath them, and shielded their eyes against a bright white light that took on the rough outline of a human figure. It stood underneath a large pizza-tree and seemed to gaze out at them before pulsating, then, with a small pop, it vanished. 

The earth continued to shake for a few seconds more before quietening down. Margo scrambled to her feet, taking in large gulps of breath. ‘You saw that right?’ she rounded on Josh. 

‘The wannabe Jesus guy?’ Josh said. ‘Yeah, I saw that.’ 

‘The fuck?’ Margo said. They stared at the space where the figure had been.


	3. Plover's House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here, we discover the identity of the glowing white figure. Eliot receives alarming news and travels to his family home.

\-------------------  
A glowing white figure   
\-------------------

The mansion was huge, though that was to be expected, he supposed, being a mansion and all. He raised a hand poised to knock, then stopped himself, puzzled. You were supposed to knock right? Before entering someone’s home? A stab of alarm shot through him. This was definitely the sort of thing he ought to know. The past three months or so had felt like being in a dream. He didn’t feel connected to his body. He didn’t feel especially human anymore. He was relying more on a vague sense of how he should behave, how he remembered behaving once upon a time, but the knowledge he had once possessed evaded him now, just like his memories. He couldn’t meet the author of his favourite books like this, could he? What would Plover make of him? And come to think of it, why, if everything else, even basic human etiquette, had fled from him as though it didn’t want anything to do with him, did he remember Plover and the Fillory books? 

Before he had a chance to make up his mind however, his energy decided for him. It shifted and vibrated through him and a second later he was standing, reformed, in a dark, dusty hallway. 

‘H-hello?’ he called out, wondering if this constituted as breaking and entering, whatever that was. ‘Mr. Plover?’ There was no answer. Lush upholstered chairs and dark wooden furniture absorbed his voice so that, after a moment, he couldn’t be certain he had spoken. He moved silently down the hallway, footsteps materialising in the plush carpet behind him where he disturbed the dust. ‘Mr. Plover?’ he tried again. 

Straining his ears, he thought he caught a distant sound of a crackling fire and followed it until he found himself in a large study where there was indeed a fire dancing merrily in the fireplace. An old man had his back to him, standing at a bookcase lined with old-fashioned leather-bound books. He cleared his throat. The man spun around; eyes wild. 

‘Butterflies and mildew!’ the man cried in alarm and cowered before him, shielding his eyes. This was not the reaction he had been expecting. He glanced down at himself and for the first time noticed he was glowing a brilliant white light. Strange, he thought. 

‘I’m sorry,’ he said to the man whom he was hoping was Plover. He concentrated for a moment and the light around him dimmed and went out. It was like sucking joy and life back into himself, like turning a down a dimmer switch in a room until just a fraction of light remained. Whatever he thought would happen next it certainly wasn’t another startled cry from the man who clapped his hand to his mouth. The man took several steps back from him. This was indeed odd behaviour. He glanced about himself, making sure he emitted the correct amount of light – that is to say none – and content that he now had a normal human appearance looked up questioningly at the man. ‘I really am sorry to intrude like this. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I’m not here to steal anything, I just wanted to ask you about Fillory.’ He explained in a kind of desperate plea. This had not gone off to a good start. 

‘Dancing goblins in moonlight,’ the man said, pointing at him. He still wasn’t making much sense, any really, but he noted with relief that the man seemed calmer at least. He frowned and studied the man. Something was off in his aura. He saw a thin train of hundreds – no thousands – of tiny insect-like beings entwined with his essence all down his spine. 

‘You’re infested,’ he stated, ‘let me get that for you.’ He concentrated on the busy network of insects bustling up and down the man’s spine and asked them quite simply to leave and return to where they came from. Leave they did in a great fountain out from both of the man’s ears but then hovered in mid-air seeming uncertain as to where to go. A moment later they dropped to the floor, quite dead. ‘Well, that was weird,’ he said gazing down at the small husks now littering the floor. 

‘Quentin!’ the man said, eyes wide, ‘you’re alive.’ 

\----  
Eliot  
\----

Eliot placed his mobile phone onto the coffee table in the Physical Kid’s Cottage with exaggerated care as though it might splinter at the slightest touch, and had a metal flask in his hands before he’d even thought to reach for it. ‘Well, fuck,’ he said and drank deeply from the flask. 

Charlton, who had been coming down the stairs at that moment paused. ‘What is it?’ he asked.

‘Oh, nothing,’ Eliot lied. Charlton came over to him and peered into his face. He seemed attune to Eliot’s every shift of emotion, no matter how minuscule. Though this time, Eliot thought, he was right to be concerned. He sighed, knowing Charlton would not let it go until Eliot had confided in him the news he had, moments ago, received. Earth, no, moon-shattering news. ‘That was my sister,’ he told Charlton quietly, ‘my mother is sick. Really sick.’ 

Charlton’s face dropped in concern. ‘Oh, Eliot,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry.’ Eliot was embarrassed to feel tears springing to his eyes. Charlton lowered himself onto the sofa next to him and gathered up Eliot’s long legs, draping them over his own. He nestled into Eliot’s chest. ‘I’m here,’ he said, ‘it’ll be okay.’ 

‘How Charlton? How will it be okay?’ Eliot didn’t mean for the anger to be so evident in his voice. ‘Shit, sorry, it’s not you, it’s just, you know.’ Charlton nodded. He did know, Eliot could see that. Somehow, he always understood. ‘I gotta go see her,’ Eliot said, then was struck with the horror of what that entailed. ‘I mean, I do, right?’ he gazed imploringly at Charlton. ‘I can’t not go. No matter what that means.’ 

Charlton rubbed his leg in sympathy. ‘I think so,’ he said. 

‘It’s just. I’ve not told you but my father. He’s a complete cluster fuck of a human being.’ Eliot admitted. 

‘I know,’ said Charlton. ‘I mean I saw glimpses when I was in your consciousness,’ he amended. 

‘Right.’ 

They sat in silence for a moment as a torrent of emotion raged inside Eliot. His father was the last man in all the universes he ever wanted to see again. Yet here it was. If he wanted to see his mother, he would have to contend with his father. ‘I need to ask Fogg for a leave of absence,’ he said. ‘I’ll go tonight.’ 

Charlton thought for a moment. ‘I’ll come with you,’ he said decisively. ‘You don’t have to face this alone.’ 

Eliot had no idea if Charlton being there would help one bit. Though he appreciated the offer, he did not have the mental capacity or the emotional space to make that kind of decision. Let Charlton see his family? Let him discover just how cruel his father was? Have him debased and mocked for nothing more than being alive and being Eliot’s boyfriend? The thought was absurd. No-one should have to go through that, certainly not someone as sweet and sensitive as the boy snuggled into him, stroking his arm ever so tenderly. Eliot’s already bruised and battered heart fractured a tiny bit more. 

\-------  
Quentin  
\-------

Quentin sat in an antique gold-studded leather armchair, picking at the flaking bits along its arm and marvelling at how very human this was, to sit in a chair in a study, having a conversation with another human being. He sipped the whiskey Plover had poured from a crystal decanter; the ice clinked against the glass. It was not terrible, he thought as it burnt its way down his throat. He guessed he would get used to it. He had no way of knowing if he had ever had whiskey before. 

Plover examined him from over his own glass and Quentin returned in kind. He noticed that Plover had raised scars all along his face, marks of some kind. He didn’t think it would be polite to remove them. They seemed useful somehow. ‘You are Quentin, aren’t you? And you were dead?’ Plover asked him. Quentin chewed on the inside of his mouth. Since reducing his light, he had begun to feel a bit more human, a bit more like his old self, whoever that was. ‘Or are you from another time-line? Though all the Quentin’s have died, haven’t they?’ 

‘I’m not quite sure what you mean.’ Quentin took another sip of his drink. It didn’t burn quite so badly this time. Yes, he thought he could get used to the taste. ‘I seem to have misplaced my memories. It’s been quite inconvenient truth be told.’ 

‘I see,’ said Plover. ‘Well, if you are Quentin, which I’ll admit, you do seem to be, I can tell you what I know about you, from this timeline at least.’ 

Quentin nodded slowly, ‘when you say this timeline?’ 

‘Ah, you’ve lived forty,’ Plover told him, ‘part of a time loop dear Jane Chatwin performed. Quite clever of her. Difficult magic.’ 

‘Right, but, er, why?’ asked Quentin, puzzled. 

‘It was the only way to try to defeat The Beast. The Beast I created I’m afraid.’ Remorse filled Plover’s face as he spoke. ‘He was quite the monster, as his name suggests; wanted Fillory all for himself, and kept going around murdering people in order to keep it that way. You volunteered to stop him. Time, and time again.’ 

‘So Fillory is real then?’ they had reached the topic Quentin was most keen to address. 

‘Oh, very real. Or it was. It’s gone now.’ 

‘What?’ Quentin spilled some of his drink onto his lap as he sat up in alarm. ‘Fillory’s gone?’ 

Plover lifted a placating hand. ‘Yes, Old Fillory, but your friends created a new world for all the inhabitants. They had to destroy the old one. The dead had risen, you see.’ He eyed Quentin, suddenly wary. ‘You didn’t by any chance come through a door from the underworld, did you?’ He asked. 

Quentin racked his brain, searching for any clue as to how he came into being again. The faintest edges of a memory grew in the corners of his mind, tantalising in how close it was; just within grasp. Quentin held up a hand as Plover began to speak again, quietening him as he concentrated, eyes closed. The memory grew, taking on shape, then colour, then sound, then finally, emotion.

He was somewhere beautiful. Not because of the surroundings, it was just a house, plainly decorated, but warm, cosy. The beauty came from the feeling. He was sat around a table. His Dad was there. And Eliot. And Alice. And all his friends. Even Penny was there. They were laughing and joking. Pulling Christmas crackers. Yes, that’s right, it was Christmas. A great decorated tree stood in the corner of the room and gentle Christmas tunes filtered around them. And he was cocooned in love. Warm, hearty food lined the table, he reached out to straighten Eliot’s Christmas paper hat which was in danger of slipping down one side of his face. Quentin’s dad beamed at him. Alice was laughing with Margo and Josh. There were wooden airplane models dotting around the place. They had made them together. It was bliss. It was peace. It was… heaven! And then the scene dissolved and there was a great being in front of him and he was being offered a choice. A choice he couldn’t quite remember. But he knew he had to choose now. The moment was now or he could not return. Whatever it was, he had chosen yes. He had felt a push and a woosh and was hurtling through light, and then… the three faces… whispering harsh sounding words and touching his head and then light and ground and the smell of grass and the sweet scent of the air and…

He opened his eyes. ‘I was sent back,’ he said, ‘I think by a God. But something happened on the way. They took my memories!’ He glanced at Plover, ‘I don’t know who but these three faces, they stopped me for a moment and they touched me here,’ he placed a hand to his head, ‘and then I woke up somewhere, I thought I was in Fillory, but I wasn’t sure so I came to find you to ask.’ He sat back suddenly exhausted. That was the most he had thought and spoken in quite some time, possibly since before his death even. The memories of his friends faded then winked out and he was left bereft, uncertain as to who had been with him in the afterlife. Not sure who any of his friends were anymore. 

Plover stood from his armchair. ‘Well then,’ he said and clapped his hands together. ‘The obvious thing to do would be to go to Brakebills, let them take a look at you. That is if you are quite sure you aren’t a risen dead. One touch will have you destroying each and every one of them.’

Quentin frowned. ‘But how do I know I’m not? He asked. 

‘I suppose that is a risk you may just have to take,’ Plover said not unkindly, ‘though I’ve never heard of a risen dead glowing quite so angelically before nor having the powers you seem to possess. I’d wager you are something quite different. Unique even.’   
Quentin set his glass down on the desk and thanked Plover who smiled, a little sadly, ‘it is no bother my dear boy, it’s a long time since I’ve been able to hold a conversation,’ he said. ‘and longer still since I’ve been thanked.’ He added, quieter this time. Unsure what to say next, Quentin nodded to him, then focused on the single thought: Brakebills. 

When he opened his eyes again it was mid-afternoon, and he was standing on a giant sweeping lawn, one of the most beautiful, most majestic buildings Quentin was sure he had ever seen, perched on top of a hill facing him, seeming to smile in welcome. 

\----  
Eliot  
\----

The smell of the farm assaulted Eliot before he even got out of the car. Manure. Disgusting manure. With a deep breath, which he immediately regretted taking, Eliot slid out of the car. Lowing cattle sounded from the fields adjacent and the distant tinkle of cowbells reached him over the quiet of the night. He stared, frozen in time; memories crowded his mind, jostling each other to be the first to present their trauma. He flinched as a crack of his father’s belt echoed through time and space. It hadn’t happened often, but when it did, he cried, curled in his room afterward for hours, he had never felt so small, so vulnerable, so afraid. His heart began to beat erratically. The feelings of shame he had fought so hard against since leaving —escaping— this place came barrelling through his defenses, stripping him raw, exposed. He remembered feeling helpless, then as if summoned by those feelings, the image of the monster riding his body with nothing he could do to stop it leered out of the night at him, the monster Quentin died to destroy, all because of him. 

Charlton slammed the passenger car door, breaking through his trance like a gunshot splitting the night air. Like the gun he had used on the monster when it wore Charlton’s face. He blinked.

‘That was… wild!’ Charlton exclaimed. ‘I didn’t know these things went that fast. I’m surprised we are still in one piece.’ 

‘Speak for yourself.’ Eliot muttered. 

‘And the plane. I can’t get over the plane. We were sat inside a massive metal bird Eliot, flying over the ocean. Only it didn’t really seem much like being inside a bird more-’

‘Cramped with minimal leg room and no choice but to suffer the wailings of children? And God-forbid one of the little fuckers is sat behind you, kicking your chair, cause I can assure you, that gets tired, real quick.’ Eliot used his distaste for air travel – other than what he thought first class would be like – to distract himself, and in doing so, managed to get a tenuous grip on his mind once more. 

‘Well, there is that,’ Charlton stretched, arms high above his head; a thin band of skin showed as his black T-shirt rode up a bit and Eliot’s face softened.

Doing his best to channel Margo and thus borrowing her infinite supply of inner strength, Eliot said, ‘no point holding off the inevitable any longer.’ With that, he took Charlton’s hand in his own and trod the all too familiar path to his parent’s porchway, pausing only to gulp down the contents of his flask so fast his head spun. ‘To your good health,’ he mimed toasting Charlton then raised a shaking hand to rap smartly on the door. 

From inside came the sound of several dogs yapping excitedly. And over it all, he heard the low rumbling voice of his father cursing. Charlton and Eliot shared a glance that conveyed a multitude of feelings. Charlton gripped Eliot’s hand harder. ‘I’m here,’ he whispered as a light flickered on, the barking grew louder, and then the door wrenched open to reveal his father’s gruff, weather-beaten face. 

Eliot took an involuntary step backward. His father had aged a little, Eliot noted, since he’d last seen him, but it didn’t seem to have altered him much. ‘Do you know what time it is?’ his father spat, then, realisation dawning on just who it was who stood on his doorstep, he straightened his spine and glared down at Eliot. Despite being almost equal height, Eliot could still be made to feel he was shorter. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Eliot spied Charlton checking his pocket watch. ‘It is a quarter past eleven,’ Charlton told Eliot’s father, ‘at night,’ he added helpfully. He returned his watch to his jacket pocket and ever the polite gentleman, extended out a hand. ‘Mr. Waugh. So good to meet you. I’m Charlton, your son’s boyfriend.’ 

Surprising no-one, Eliot’s father did not shake Charlton’s hand. ‘Last I saw you, you were nancying off to some fancy school.’ Eliot closed his eyes briefly and counted to five in his mind. Only his father could have come up with the perfect verb to express both his feelings towards his son and his displeasure that Eliot was not the agricultural worker that was expected of him. The sentiment was ruined somewhat however as one of the three terrier-sized dogs made its escape, squeezing between his father’s legs then scrambling at Eliot’s knees, begging to be fussed. It helped to break the spell his father had over him. 

‘And the last time I saw you, you were being ripped apart and eaten by cannibals,’ he told him, ‘one of my better memories. Still, here we are.’ 

His father chose to ignore Eliot’s last statement, ‘what are you doing here?’ he demanded to know. 

Eliot scooped the wriggling dog into his arms, using it as a kind of shield between them and said, ‘I’ve come to see mum.’

‘Yeah? Well, she doesn’t want to see you.’ His father’s eyes flickered towards Charlton and a sneer curled his lips.

‘If you do not step aside; I will hex you.’ Eliot said calmly.

A flash of long blonde hair accompanied by a squeal of ‘Eliot!’ announced his sister’s presence and a moment later she came hurtling down the hallway, brushing past their father, and flung her arms around both him and the dog, which struggled to be let down. Eliot released it then drew his sister into a tighter hug. 

‘I missed you, Annabelle,’ he said into her hair, holding her closer still. Out of everyone, she was the person he regretted leaving behind. 

‘You came!’ she said, a little out of breath. ‘I’m so glad you are here, let’s go see mum, she’s awake again.’ She glared at their father, who, to Eliot’s astonishment, stepped aside allowing the three of them space to enter the house. 

His parents had long since stopped sharing a bedroom. Annabelle led Eliot by the hand, Charlton following closely behind, to their mother’s room. It was warm inside the room and fusty; the smell of sickness clung to the air like a fly caught in a web, with nowhere it could go. 

‘Look who is here,’ Annabelle said, pushing Eliot forwards towards the bed where he could just make out his mother’s frail body under the covers.

‘Hey mum,’ Eliot said and lowered himself onto the mattress. He took her hand in his own.

She stirred, ‘Eliot?’ she said. Her voice was reed-thin, fragile, as though it could break at any moment.

Eliot swallowed thickly. ‘Yeah, it’s me, mum.’ He saw that she was struggling to sit up and helped her by easing a couple of cushions behind her back and guiding her back onto them. As he did so, he felt just how delicate she was under his hands, her shoulder bones poking through her skin, sharp yet brittle. ‘I brought a friend too.’ 

Annabelle flicked on the bedside lamp throwing their mother into sharper relief. Eliot sucked in a breath. She really was skin and bones. Charlton smiled and stepped forward, offering his hand once more. This time, his mother took it in both of her own. ‘It is good to meet any friend of Eliot’s,’ she told him. 

‘Thank you,’ Charlton smiled down at her. Eliot marvelled at his calm, almost doctorly demeanour and felt a rush of gratitude that Charlton had managed to convince Eliot to let him accompany him after all. 

‘I’m so sorry you are so sick,’ Eliot told her thickly. 

‘Oh, don’t fuss about me,’ she said. ‘Now, tell me everything that’s been happening in your life. How is your school? Have you been learning much?’ 

Annabelle signalled to Charlton and they left the room. Eliot trusted that she would keep him company in some way and began to speak. For ten long minutes he told her everything. She listened and patted his hand whenever he seemed to falter. When he was finished, she said, ‘Eliot. I am so proud of you. I can’t claim to understand all of it, but I knew you were different and not just your sexuality, dear, I saw you do things sometimes. Things I couldn’t explain. I was so happy to hear you were leaving this place. It was never for you.’ 

Eliot felt a warm trickle down his cheek and they sat like that some more, just talking, mother and son, mending the rift caused by a man whom Eliot was certain neither of them held any love for anymore.


	4. Intruder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quentin wanders around Brakebills.

\-----  
Todd  
\-----

It was Todd’s job, as well as being Fogg’s general errand boy, memoir writer, and looker after of the fat ginger cat that had inexplicably attached itself to Fogg, despite Fogg managing to clear the psychic damage he had suffered (with the help of a reluctant Mayachovsky), to keep an eye on a certain complicated device that flashed red when a ward around Brakebills broke, most likely due to an intruder. 

The device was currently flashing red. ‘Oh, fuck,’ Todd said out loud. He was in the small office space he shared with both Eliot and Penny, but he knew Eliot was off to God knows where; he had personally handled the leave-of-absence request, and Penny was currently teaching. He had to find Henry. Todd rushed through the hallways, shouldering his way past the unprecedented swarms of students and came, at last, panting heavily, to Fog’s office. He burst through the door and found Fogg engaged in what looked to be a serious conversation with Julia, who was nodding, frowning, baby Hope asleep, nestled in her arms. 

‘So, you see,’ said Fogg, ‘we need to expand Brakebills but there is a lack of funding. That’s where you come in. I’m told Fredrick has a soft spot for the brilliant Hedge Witch turned Goddess, turned human again. I need you to sweet talk—’ Fogg broke off in annoyance. ‘Todd,’ he said. It was amazing just how much feeling Henry Fogg could put into a name. ‘We are in the middle of an important—’

‘Yes, yes I know,’ Todd interrupted him, ‘but, intruder!’ He gestured wildly at the device he had forgotten he was still carrying, whose lights were still flashing a determined red. 

Henry sprang into action with impressive speed for a man of his stature. ‘Julia – I want you and Hope to return back to your apartment. Now, please.’ He said, cutting off her protests. ‘She is a child. I cannot be worrying about the two of you right now.’ They maintained eye contact, a silent battle of wills before Julia relented and nodded. She left clutching Hope, giving Todd a worried look on her way out. From what he knew of Julia, Todd understood that leaving others to a fight and potential danger was a notion she found especially difficult to swallow.

‘Todd,’ said Henry, ‘with me, please.’ Alarm spread through Todd’s body, pinpricks of electric nerves. But, seeing he didn’t have much of a choice, he tossed the device haphazardly onto the dean’s desk and set off after Henry’s retreating figure. ‘No need to alarm anyone just yet,’ said Henry as Todd caught up to him. ‘We will conduct a sweep of the parameter first.’ He led the way to the laboratory where Todd knew – for reasons he had never bothered to listen to – was the site where the most accurate spell casting could take place. ‘In here please,’ Henry held the door open and ushered a nervous Todd inside. 

There were several students milling around practicing their homework assignments in the laboratory when they entered. Henry demanded they leave at once, and with confused glances at each other, they picked up their satchels and books and left. ‘I need you to do exactly what I say,’ he said. ‘I am foolishly trusting you here, with my life.’ 

Todd swallowed; eyes wide. ‘Yes sir,’ he said. Todd knew the dean so well at this point that it was a struggle to not refer to him by his first name, but it seemed like a ‘sir’ kind of moment. Henry rolled his eyes. ‘What do you need me to do?’

‘Just stand there,’ directed Henry. He picked up a piece of chalk and drew a complicated circle on the ground then promptly sat himself down, cross-legged, in the centre of it. ‘Guard my body and the door. Don’t let any students or staff in, and if anyone else attempts to break in, you wake me, okay?’ Without waiting for Todd to show he understood, Henry closed his eyes and within seconds was deep in a trance. 

Todd took up a defensive position beside Henry’s body, but as the tense seconds ticked away into long, boring minutes, Todd felt his attention waver. He wandered around the lab inspecting the various beakers and concoctions. He’d just picked up an intriguing beaker with azure blue liquid inside to examine it more closely when he heard Henry’s sharp bark calling his name. He dropped the beaker with a squeal, jumped back from the rapidly spreading pool of steaming liquid, and hurried over to the dean. 

‘You really are quite the incompetent imbecile, aren’t you?’ said Henry, dispersing the liquid with a wave of his hand. Todd saw no way out of this other than to nod in agreement. Henry sighed. ‘Well, it looks like the coast is clear. I scanned the whole of Brakebills’s premises, twice in fact, and there was no sign of anyone who shouldn’t be here.’ 

‘Did you look, er,’ Todd wasn’t quite sure how to phrase it, ‘in like the shower rooms and things?’

‘Yes, I did. It was not nearly as exciting as you might imagine.’ Henry pushed himself to his feet, waving off Todd’s enthusiastic attempt to help.

‘Aren’t the students entitled to privacy?’ Todd asked, interested. 

Henry shot him a look, ‘no,’ he said in a firm voice, ‘not when we are under threat. Though it seems we aren’t. Goddammed machines malfunctioning everywhere. I really do need a drink. Why did I quit?’ he asked himself. He turned to Todd, ‘you are dismissed.’ 

With relief, Todd left the laboratory and made his way back to his office. He was already dismissing the events of the afternoon from his mind and had moved onto the next task of the day. He had to examine the teaching schedule and make corrections. Eliot should be back within the hour and Henry had explicitly said that he was allowed to the exact hour the allotted time off, then he had to return straight to work, which meant that Elliot would be returning just in time to teach the final lesson of the day. 

\----  
Eliot  
\----

On the plane ride back to JFK, Eliot mused on the request his mother had given him. When she died, she wanted Eliot to house his sister. She felt Annabelle was stifled in the farm and that it had been foolish for them to expect both their children to take over. The farm was failing anyway, and she did not wish for Annabelle to go down with a sinking ship. ‘Let your father deal with it,’ she’d told him, ‘it is his first and only love. Look after her, show her the city, let her breathe, let her live.’ He’d assured his mother that he would; it wasn’t like he could say no to a dying wish after all, but more than that, he knew she was right. Annabelle would have loved Fen, Eliot thought, they’d have become like sisters. He felt a pang of remorse. He knew he had been a bad friend to Fen, a worse husband, but now he missed her. He missed all of them so badly it was like vines were wound around his heart, thorns pushing in deeper and deeper. Even Josh. He knew he had taken his friends for granted on more than one occasion, relying largely on his close connection with Bambi to see him through his darkest days, but he regretted that now they were gone. 

With a quick kiss goodbye, Charlton left him promising to see him back at home and Eliot wandered into his shared office. Once upon a time, all professors had an office each, but with space constraints, the larger offices had been transformed into makeshift classrooms, and the smaller ones now housed several teachers each, though it hadn’t escaped Eliot’s notice that Fogg had managed to retain his all to himself. He supposed there must be some perks to being a dean. 

It was squashed inside, there was no other word for it. Desks jostled each other for space and on more than one occasion Eliot had snapped at Todd to clear up the clutter that had spilled from Todd’s desk onto his own. He saw Todd, headphones on, bopping to music as he studied. Todd was still officially anyway a final year student at Brakebills. He had repeated the year on account of having so little time to study given the insane demands Fogg placed on him. Eliot threw his bag onto what little floor space there was next to his desk and slumped down in his seat, massaging out the knots in the back of his neck with one hand.   
Sensing his arrival, Todd looked up and pushed one side of his headphones away from his ear. ‘You’re late,’ he declared. ‘Your lesson started five minutes ago.’ Eliot groaned. He sorely needed a long nap and possibly a tussle with Charlton in bed. He had a great deal of tension to relieve after all. Instead, he heaved himself to his feet, picked up his bag once more, and without a word strode off to his classroom, wondering if taking this job had really been the best idea he could have come up with to pass the time.

\-------  
Quentin  
\-------

A quiver ran through silver wards around the perimeter of the university grounds but held firm. Clearly, they were not powerful enough to keep out Quentin. A nostalgic feeling gathered in the pit of his stomach as he took in the sight of the almost familiar buildings. It was like he had been here before but in a dream. He spent a while examining the grounds, looking with pleasure at the rose gardens, and poked his head into some kind of auditorium. There were raised seats under a domed roof and a pit in the floor covered in large stone squares, each displaying unusual symbols. He wondered what the building was used for. He had just decided to head back to the main building when a peculiar sensation travelled up his spine. He was about to be watched, he realised. Without thinking, he cast a cloak of energy around himself, shielding him from prying eyes. It did more than that though. As he entered through the large double doors marking the entrance into Brakebills main building, he noticed that people’s eyes were sliding right off him. He had wanted to be invisible and now he was, it would seem. He joined a stream of students and wandered along the hallway until he came across a large, stunning library filled top to bottom with long thick wooden bookcases and small nooks and crannies where presumably students could study undisturbed. 

A girl with ebony skin and bouncing curls sat hunched over a book. Glancing at a clock on the wall next to her she let out a small gasp, gathered up her book and stuffed it hastily into her backpack, then, with a loud scrape of her chair that drew annoyed looks from the other students, she stood up and hurried out of the library. 

Quentin felt a pull. There was something about the girl, the way she had glanced at the clock, which triggered something in his mind. He ground his teeth in irritation. If he could just remember! Knowing it was futile to get worked up, he resigned himself to following the girl instead. She jogged towards a classroom and burst through the door, an apology forming on her lips which died away when she realised the teacher was not yet there. Several students snickered but she ignored them and took one of the remaining seats at the front of the class. Quentin kept outside the classroom door, studying her. She arranged her notebook and pens neatly on her desk then sat expectantly, no doubt waiting for the teacher to arrive. The other students were far less patient, several were lounging across their desks a bored expression on their face, another girl was sat in a boy’s lap playfully touching his hair. 

‘Learn now, fuck later,’ a voice called into the room and the couple sprang apart, faces flushed. A tall man with deep hazel eyes and a tired face strolled past Quentin and up to the front of the class. Ah, the teacher then. Must be. Quentin leaned against the doorframe, observing. He couldn’t say why he remained only that he felt called to. And maybe, just maybe, there was something familiar about the man. He took in the man’s appearance, seeing if it would jolt his memories. He saw that the man was smartly dressed, a shirt tucked neatly into snug-fitting trousers, with a tight expensive-looking waistcoat over the top. He was wearing an elaborate green cravat too with a paisley design and several rings glinted on his fingers, one of which looked to be a wedding band. Well, even if he couldn’t quite place the man, Quentin was pleased to see some of his more human recollections coming back. He knew a little about clothes and wedding rings at least. It wasn’t much, but it was something. 

\----  
Eliot  
\----

‘To the front of the class please, everyone,’ Eliot decided on the spot that today’s class was going to be a practical. When all the students had gathered, he waved a hand and the tables and chairs shot off to one side, stacking themselves one atop the other. ‘Make a circle,’ he called. He concentrated for a moment, summoning his remaining energy and produced a large ball of crackling energy, about the size of a beach ball. Without warning he tossed it at Plum, ‘catch,’ he said. She tried and failed, the ball hit the ground and fizzled out. ‘Popper thirty, variation three,’ Eliot said, ‘let’s do this again. Er,’ he looked around the room, ‘you,’ he paused, hoping the boy would supply his name, but he didn’t. Oh well, thought Eliot and summoned the ball once more then tossed it towards the boy. The boy caught it. ‘Now, think of a different colour,’ Eliot instructed, ‘fill the ball with your chosen colour then toss it to a classmate at random.’ He watched as the boy concentrated, studying the slight twitch in his hands and determined it was passable. The clear ball turned a smoky black. 

‘Harry,’ the boy called and tossed the ball across the circle. It was caught by a hipster-looking boy who turned the ball pink and tossed it across to someone else. The game went on like this for a while before Eliot called for them to stop. 

‘Okay,’ he said, ‘give me the ball.’ The ball, now red, landed smoothly in his hands. Now we are going to apply the principle of division.’ He split the ball in his mind into four smaller balls, then shot them at random to students. ‘Keep them going,’ he encouraged and the class engaged in a rather chaotic game of catch. Then one student slipped with his hand gesture and the ball spun wildly in the air emitting a zinging noise then shot straight for Eliot’s face. 

‘Eliot!’ Plum cried out in warning. He ducked just in time and the ball crashed into the board behind him, splintering it in two. He straightened up, and ran a hand through his deshelled hair, messing it up even further.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘not quite right, Karl, let’s see your Popper 30 again.’

‘Eliot.’ 

Every molecule in Eliot’s body pulsed. The hair on the back of his neck stood rigid to attention. The colour drained from his face. That voice. He knew that voice. But no, it couldn’t be. Slowly, heart screaming in his chest, he raised his eyes. 

Quentin.


	5. A heated reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliot and Quentin reunite - sort of. Plum and Penny talk to Julia. Fen and the others battle against a new terror.

\----  
Eliot  
\----

‘Quentin?’ 

Sound stopped. With laser precision, Eliot’s eyes honed in on the doorway, blocking out everything else. He was underwater, drowning, dragged below the waves by the current’s firm grip, tossed and swirling. He was light, weightless, floating in a world of make-belief; cotton candy sunsets and crushed-strawberry kisses. He took a trembling step forward. Then another. And then he was running. His class parted like the Red Sea and he barrelled towards Quentin. At that moment he understood Seb Chatwin in all his madness. He understood the ecstasy; the desperation. He felt it all and more. 

Reaching Quentin after an age, and less than a microsecond, Eliot gathered him in his arms, lifting him clean off his feet. 

‘Wait,’ a startled Quentin cried, but it was too late. Skin touched skin. And nothing happened. At least nothing terrible. Instead, where Quentin’s face crushed against Eliot’s own, nerves fired. Where his hands gripped Quentin’s arms, Eliot’s skin came alive. Eliot released him and cupped his face in his hands. 

‘You’re alive.’ Happiness exploded in Eliot’s chest, filling his body with air and light and bliss. It erupted from him in waves of giddy laughter. ‘You’re alive!’ he cried again gripping him so hard he knew it must hurt. Then a moment of doubt crashed through Eliot. He recalled how The Beast had tricked Seb. Dropping Quentin’s hands, Eliot took a step back and frantically examined Quentin’s face. ‘You are you, right? Please tell me you are you.’

Quentin nodded. ‘I’m Quentin,’ he confirmed. Wouldn’t The Beast have killed him by now? Throwing caution to the wind, Eliot pulled Quentin into another, bone-cracking embrace then brought his lips to Quentin’s with an urgency that shocked Eliot. He felt Quentin respond and Eliot curled his fingers deeper into Quentin’s hair, relishing in every touch: the feel of Quentin’s warm lips, the soft scrape of his tongue, his thick hair like silk in his hands. But then, ever so gently, Quentin drew back, placing a hand softly on Eliot’s chest. 

‘I am Quentin,’ he said, ‘but I don’t have my memories. I don’t really know you. I feel like I do, I remember your name, but I can’t quite—’ he broke off in frustration. ‘I just can’t remember. But I want to, badly.’

Eliot struggled to take it all in. ‘How?’ he asked, tears sprung from his eyes, an intensity of emotion he had never felt in his whole life swirling through him, ‘how are you alive?’ 

‘It’s kind of a long story,’ said Quentin. ‘But now at least I know I’m definitely not one of the risen dead.’ Quentin grimaced. ‘I didn’t have time to warn you.’ 

‘Yeah,’ Eliot gave a shaky laugh. He did not know what to do with his hands. He wanted to reach out and grab Quentin again, and hold him forever. ‘I’d be corpse-bait if you were,’ he said. The Beast had never touched Seb but had killed Zelda with the briefest caress. He rounded on the class who stood open-mouthed at the scene before him. ‘You see him, right?’ He demanded of them. ‘He is real, right?’ Several students nodded mutely. 

‘I see him,’ Plum confirmed. 

Eliot spun back to Quentin. ‘I don’t understand,’ he said. 

‘Neither do I really,’ said Quentin. He was beginning to feel uncomfortable under the gaze of so many people and shifted on the spot. ‘Is there somewhere we can go to talk?’ Eliot would have gone wherever Quentin suggested, but a dim part of his mind registered the lost look on Quentin’s face. He clasped his hand, ‘come with me,’ he said, much more decisively than he felt. He led Quentin out of the classroom and into the warm late-afternoon to find a secluded place where they could talk. 

\-----  
Penny  
\-----

Penny glanced at his watch, he still had half an hour or so until he had arranged to meet Plum in their usual place at the back of the library. He decided to use the time to grade papers knowing he wouldn’t get much chance that evening. Julia and Hope came first, Fogg and his students would just have to understand. Or maybe Fogg would fire him? He wished that he would. Why was it that no matter what timeline he was in, he always seemed to find himself trapped by some ridiculous contract? 

He settled at the desk and was surprised to see Plum a moment later, hurrying towards him, her face flushed. 

‘Hey,’ he said, standing. He placed a quick kiss on her mouth. ‘Everything okay?’ 

Plum wrung her hands together catching Penny off-guard; she really did look worried. ‘What is it?’ he asked in concern. 

‘It’s Quentin,’ she told him, ‘he’s back.’ Whatever it was that he imagined Plum would say, this was about the furthest thing from it possible. He rocked back on his heels.

‘What?’ he said. ‘Our Quentin? I mean, the Quentin from this timeline?’ 

‘I don’t know exactly. I just know that he appeared in class and Eliot went off with him.’

‘Where did they go?’ 

Plum bit her lip, ‘I don’t know. This was after, you know, a rather heated reunion. But he can’t be really alive, can he?’ 

Penny shrugged, ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘No. No, I don’t think it is possible? I don’t see how it could be?’

Plum shook her head, ‘Nothing like this ever happened in Fillory either,’ she stated. ‘I mean, this sort of thing is what caused the end of Fillory. No-one has ever just returned from the dead –except for in myths and religion.’ 

Penny thought hard, ‘could it have something to do with the World Seed do you reckon?’ 

‘Well, I’ve begun to think anything is possible. But I really don’t see how. It isn’t designed to recreate people, is it? We should tell Julia.’ 

Penny considered for a moment. On the one hand, he did not understand what was happening and did not want to distress Jules, on the other, he knew not telling her would cause pandemonium when she did find out. 

‘You think we should?’ he asked her. He knew he was being chicken-shit for not making the decision himself, but he was at a loss. 

‘If it was me. Even if it wasn’t true. I’d definitely want to know,’ Plum said. 

‘Yeah, alright,’ Penny agreed still feeling uncertain. She had nearly lost her life giving birth and wasn’t fully recovered yet, but he remembered how he felt when he first learned that The Quentin Beast was looking for Julia, long after she had died. If someone had kept that news from him, he would have killed them without remorse. 

*

Julia was asleep on the sofa when they reached the apartment, one hand draped in the bassinette next to her where Hope was sleeping soundly inside, tiny hands curled into loose fists. Penny crouched down and rubbed Julia’s shoulder with excessive gentleness. She stirred and opened her eyes. ‘Hey,’ she said sleepily. It was one of those rare moments where Penny couldn’t tell the difference between the two Julia’s he had known and loved. She glanced to his left and spotted Plum and smiled in greeting. ‘What are you two doing here?’ 

They glanced at each other, wary. 

‘What is it?’ she arched her back in a cat-like stretch, ‘I know you two have started dating, Penny and I talked it through weeks ago,’ she said.

‘No, no, it's not that, though we should talk about that, you and I,’ Plum said, ‘it’s something else.’ 

Julia sat up in alarm and reached out to Hope. Realising what she must think Penny placed a hand on her arm to stop her. ‘It’s not Hope either, she’s fine.’ Julia relaxed a little though kept a nervous eye on Hope’s sleeping form. Penny drew in a deep breath, ‘it’s Quentin. Plum’s just seen him. Or at least, we think she has.’

‘WHAT?’ Julia stared at them as though they had just told her they were emigrating to Australia and taking Hope with them and that there was nothing she could do about it.

‘He came into Eliot’s class just now,’ Plum explained. ‘Just showed up. Eliot is with him, talking I guess.’ 

‘Unless it isn’t Quentin,’ Penny added, ‘and he is being eaten alive or something.’

Julia looked from one to the other as though trying to figure out what the joke was. Seeing that they were serious, she threw off her blanket and got to her feet, a little too fast. She swayed as the blood rushed to her skull. ‘You’re saying that Quentin is possibly alive? And here?’ She snapped. She wanted facts, and she wanted them now. 

Kady trudged down the spiral stairs, hair sleep-tussled, evidently on her way to the kitchen for coffee. She’d pulled another all-nighter, Penny knew. He’d made her a snack before leaving for work that morning. Julia rounded on her, ‘do you know about this?’ She demanded. 

Kady stopped in her tracks and struggled for a moment with what to say. ‘I mean, I was there when you and Penny spoke about seeing other people. It’s kind of hard not to overhear in this place, you know?’ She shrugged apologetically. 

‘Not that,’ said Julia, her voice raising a notch, ‘Quentin!’ 

Penny glanced at Hope to check she was still sleeping and saw that she was, for now. 

‘Okay, I’m definitely missing something here.’ Kady looked at the three of them, taking in their expressions and Penny saw her stance change; she clearly realised something serious was up.

Julia appeared to be considering something for a moment then reached her decision. ‘We are going to Brakebills,’ she said in a tone that invited no questions. ‘Penny?’ She gestured at Hope. 

‘Wait,’ said Penny, ‘if Quentin is some evil-being, Hope shouldn’t be anywhere near him.’ 

‘We don’t know that he is,’ argued Julia. ‘What if it really is Q?’ 

‘What if it isn’t?’ Penny retorted. 

‘I can stay with Hope.’ Plum offered. 

‘Then I can’t travel,’ Penny pointed out. ‘And neither should you. That psycho time guy is still out there.’ 

Julia pulled at her hair in exasperation, caught between her best friend and her daughter. She knew which one she would ultimately pick, no question about it. Hope, every time. 

‘Wait,’ Kady said, ‘I’ve got something that might help.’ She dashed to her room and returned a short time later, a golden amulet dangling in one hand. ‘Marina had this. She’s hiding it here for safe-keeping.’ 

Penny glared at her. ‘And you thought keeping it here was okay? Who is after it exactly?’ Whoever it was, he did not want them to come looking anywhere near his daughter. 

Kady tossed her head in impatience, ‘It’s enchanted, you can only see it when I’m holding it, look,’ she placed it down on the sofa where it transformed itself into a cushion. Still not convinced, Penny glowered. 

‘We don’t have time for this,’ Julia snapped. ‘It’s here now, let’s use it.’ She paused, ‘what does it do exactly?’ 

Kady explained: ‘The same thing, only to the person wearing it when activated. Whoever is touching it when we cast the spell can see the person, to everyone else they become whatever blends in the most with their environment. She’ll look like a book, or a bag or something.’ 

‘It’s worth a try,’ Plum said, ‘right?’ 

Penny clenched his teeth. 

‘Just drop us there and leave with Hope the second we land,’ Julia told him. Penny had to admit, as far as plans went, it sounded one of the least crazy they had come up with. He did not like leaving Julia, or Plum, or Kady come to think about it in danger though. He shared a look with Julia who seemed to sense exactly what was on his mind. ‘It can’t be Q 23, he died, we checked.’ 

‘Well apparently this one did too.’ He could see Julia did not have an answer for that. The room filled with tense silence. ‘Fine,’ Penny said eventually. ‘Just. Fine. I’ll take Hope a block away, but we are using those mirror necklaces though.’

‘Fine,’ agreed Julia. 

It was settled. 

Julia and Penny attached the Best Bitches necklaces around their necks then Penny gently placed the amulet over Hope’s neck, doing his level best to not disturb her. Kady kept a finger on it so that it wouldn’t transform and the other three joined her. She spoke several harsh sounding words in an old Germanic language and Penny picked up Hope’s sleeping form, tucking her into the sling he wore around his shoulder. 

They held hands and with a woosh next appeared in Fogg’s office making him start and spill a cup of tea across his desk. Penny heard Fogg swear and say ‘what are—’ before he zipped back out, praying that they would all be safe.

\---  
Fen  
\---

Fen got to her feet, the remaining aftershocks trembled through the ground beneath her like an animal dislodging flies with a quiver of its haunches, then died away. The temperature dropped a few degrees and she shivered; Goosebumps trailed down her arms and she rubbed them distractedly. There was something wrong with the air, she couldn’t say what but an ominous, weighted feeling pressed down on her. The others joined her and together they approached the tree, cautious in case the figure came back. She had never seen anything like it, the light was so pure and bright…angelic even. How could something like that be responsible for all the recent problems they’d been having? And where had it come from? She didn’t think it had been in Old Fillory before the Great Rapturing, but since leaving her cottage and moving into Castle Whitespire with Eliot, she had seen a great many strange things and her view of Fillory, and the universes, had since been blown wide-open. Anything was possible, she realised. She wriggled her toes in her boots. Case in point. 

‘That little shit,’ Margo said casting her eyes around the space where the figure had been. ‘He is fucking up New Fillory, whoever he is.’ She turned to Fen, ‘have you heard of anything like it, back in Fillory?’ she asked her. Fen shook her head. Margo sighed, ‘yeah, didn’t think so.’ 

Alice scraped an area of soil into a vial she produced from her pocket from where the figure had stood, then said thoughtfully: ‘the black King turned out to be Rupert Chatwin, didn’t he? Just a man. Maybe this is the same deal, only like a white version, somehow…’ she trailed off and pocketed the vial. 

‘I’m Gandalf the White,’ said Josh with perfect timing. He mimed thumping the bottom of a staff onto the ground. 

‘A white wizard?’ Alice considered. ‘Even as a Niffan I didn’t hear of anything like that.’

‘But you also hadn’t heard of the Kraken – you know – as in, RELEASE THE KRAKEN!’ Josh said.

‘You just wanted an opportunity to say that,’ Margo narrowed her eyes at him in suspicion.

It was obvious to Fen that she found Josh adorable despite how she frequently acted. Fen said, ‘I’ve only seen the movies once – okay three times – but wasn’t Gandalf a good guy? He didn’t go around destroying Middle Earth, did he? Or am I missing something.’ Fen rubbed her arms again; it was getting cold.

‘No, you are right,’ Josh pondered. ‘He defeated the Balrog then saved the day at the Battle of Helm’s Deep.’ 

Margo cut him off before he could get fully into his stride recounting the full movie to them. ‘That was fiction,’ she said, ‘this isn’t. Look, guys, we should regroup at the castle, and is anyone else noticing how cold it’s getting?’ 

As she said that a vicious wind swept towards them and a chilling shadow fell across the meadow. They turned their gaze skywards to see a carpet of dark clouds rolling across what had previously been a startling blue sky, clear as glass. From beside Alice came a low growl and Fen looked to see Chester, hackles raised, his nose pointing to somewhere off in the distance. ‘Danger,’ he warned. 

‘I think we really should get out of here.’ Fen said, her voice shrill. 

Margo looked like she was about to say something but then winced and clapped her hands to her head, moaning softly. Josh rubbed her back in small soothing circles. He looked at Fen, ‘she’s been getting these headaches,’ he explained.

‘Not now, Josh,’ Margo growled. Then, as if she could no longer support her own weight, she dropped to her knees, a sob forcing its way through her clenched teeth. 

Alice gasped. ‘What’s wrong with her?’ 

Josh crouched down beside her and cupped her face in his hands. ‘We don’t know,’ he told them. Before they could say anything else, a great belch of thunder pealed across the sky like the portentous tolling of a bell and the wind blew harder, whipping at their clothes and hair. Flinn stepped closer to Fen as though he could protect her somehow.

Alice turned her attention back to the sky beyond the tree. ‘What is that?!’ she cried, pointing. 

‘What?’ Fen couldn’t see anything, the wind whipped her hair around her face, getting in her eyes. She tossed it away, and then she saw them. Long thin wraith-like creatures that appeared to emerge out of the storm itself. ‘Storm-Wraiths,’ she shouted in disbelief. 

The name held no meaning to Josh, Margo, or Alice but Tick, Rafe, and Flinn all cried out in alarm. They knew about Storm-Wraiths; they’d been raised on stories of them. But that is all they were supposed to be, stories. Fen’s heart sped up. If it was true, if they were real, then they were all dead. ‘We have to run!’ she told them, panic-stricken. 

Josh gathered up Margo then set her on her feet again. She swayed, knees buckling dangerously close to collapse and leaned heavily against the tree. He hoisted one of her arms around his shoulders, supporting her weight, and as one, they fled. 

Fen panted, a stitch gathering in her side. The tree wasn’t too far away from the carriage, they might reach it in time and could maybe, just maybe, outrun the storm and the Storm-Wraiths. But then she noticed that Josh and Margo were trailing behind and ground to a halt, looking back. Come on, come on, she willed them. She watched, in horror, as they stumbled and sank to the ground. 

She didn’t want to look, but she had to and saw the creatures out of many of her nightmares as a child swarming behind them, moving closer with incredible speed, spurred on by the wind. To make matters worse the clouds decided now was the opportune moment to release their weight and rain came lashing down upon them. 

She watched in horror as tall, white, semi-incorporeal figures rode the storm, swirling this way and that, writhing through the sky, and then a jagged bolt of lightning hit the tree behind them, splintering it in two. The wraiths grew in size, feeding on the storm, elongating, until they dominated the sky, the outline of faces open in silent screams bearing down on them. 

Alice had halted too next to Fen. ‘Can’t we fight them?’ she shouted over the howling wind. It threatened to bowl them over completely. 

‘No.’ Fen bellowed, straining to be heard. They ran back towards Josh and Margo, and Fen heaved on Margo’s other arm. She was barely conscious now, head lolling to one side. Together, Fen and Josh half carried, half dragged her across the meadow. Beside them, Alice flung battle magic into the sky in a desperate attempt to blast one of the creatures. Fen glanced over her shoulder and saw a trail of light passing harmlessly through a wraith. With an ear-splitting screech the sky wrenched apart and another larger jolt of thick lightning shot to the ground, inches away. A much more effective counter shot. The smell of scorched earth filled Fen’s nose and she gagged. 

‘Shield,’ Josh cried at Alice; the wind tearing away his voice. He couldn’t tell if she had heard him or if the same thought had crossed her mind. Alice hurled her energy into her next casting just in time as another bolt of sizzling electricity barrelled into the shield she held in place around them. They felt the angry reverberation rattle their bones; the hairs on their arms stood bolt upright. 

Noticing the others were no longer with them, Rafe, Flinn, and even Tick had returned to them. Chester was nowhere to be seen. In one fluid movement, Flinn swept Margo into his arms leaving Josh and Fen free to run. He sprinted to the carriage; the others close on his heel. They had almost reached it and could see the horses rearing against their leashes, eyes rolling in terror; one of the ropes snapped; with relief, they saw they others held firm; the driver was wrestling with the horses, keeping them from bolting, for now, when, with a stab of pain, Fen was lifted off her feet and thrown through the air, her left ankle searing in agony. A lightning bolt had hit the ground so close to her, it had splintered off, and a tendril of it struck her ankle, the shock physically flinging her body several meters. 

Her lungs seized from the impact of hitting the ground and Fen could not draw in enough breath to scream. Pain overwhelmed everything and she lay, desperately trying to get enough air into her body. Then strong hands gripped her, lifting her off the ground. She jostled against a hard, muscled chest as Flinn carried her, running, to the carriage. Every jolt sent waves of searing pain through her and then everything went dark.

The next thing she knew she was inside, slumped against the wooden frame of the carriage. She saw Flinn face retreating and a moment later, an unconscious Margo was beside her. Josh and Alice clambered in after her. Tick and Rafe were already sat on the seat opposite. Last of all, came Flinn. 

‘Go!’ shouted Josh and the driver urged the horses into a gallop. They raced against the storm; bolts of electricity fell just short of reaching them. Alice glanced anxiously out of the window for any sign of Chester, gripping the ledge so tight her knuckles turned white. Fen tried to tell her that talking dogs were special, that once bonded, they would always find their way back, or die trying, but the pain of her injuries was too much and it was all she could do to keep from yelling. She risked a glance at her ankle and nearly vomited. Severe burn marks scorched her flesh and blood oozed out of the wound. The carriage swayed as it sped along the rutted track. Fen heard a ripping sound and saw Flinn tearing off a strip of his shirt sleeve. He leaned over, struggling to maintain his balance as the carriage bumped and jarred but managed to bind her ankle. She met his eyes and hoped he could see her gratitude for this and for saving their lives. 

Finally, the rain eased up and though the wind still raged it lost its potency, now more a child’s tantrum at being denied what it wanted. Alice drew back from the window. ‘They’re gone,’ she said with relief. ‘We’re in the clear.’ They didn’t slow down though and the journey back to the castle took less than half the time of the outward trip. 

When they arrived, Fen and Margo were taken to the infirmary. It wasn’t fully completed yet, but it had a few cots, a sink, and some rudimentary healing supplies. A centaur, whom she later learned was called Othar, tended her wounds. She turned her head to the side, looking at anywhere other than her ruined ankle. She winced at the cold gel Othar spread on her skin then sagged in relief as the pain ebbed away. Next to her, Margo lay, still unconscious, though her face was crinkled in evident pain. Several healers had their hands over her. Fen saw them shake their head at each other, then set up a trail of hanging crystals over her. Othar finished up on her ankle and told her to rest; his kind face loomed over hers, reassuring her. He patted her on the head in a fatherly sort of way then left with the healers. Fen eventually succumbed to her exhaustion; an image of the Storm-Wraiths the last thing she thought of before sleep claimed her.


	6. Quentin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Over the past three days, I have written my first attempt at an actual story. Aside from bits and pieces of writing in the past, this is the closest I've come to developing a longer work of fiction. I'm finding the words come a little easier now. I will redraft the other chapters at some point when I improve. Thank you for bearing with me this far. In this chapter I've learned to not repeat statements like, "he nodded", "she nodded", "he blinked", "she blinked", too much but I've still a long way to go. 
> 
> This chapter contains a semi-explicit sex scene at the end. I enjoyed writing it immensely and offer up a silent apology to the actors who I had to imagine in pretty vivid detail together in order to write the scene. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it. This has been my favourite chapter to write by far.

Eliot led him to a small secluded garden around the back of a Tudor-style cottage. It looked, from the outside, like a smaller version of Plover’s house. Quentin felt a pang of familiarity but when he tried to grasp hold of it, it slipped away from him. He noticed Eliot cast a furtive glance towards the cottage windows then steered him out of sight. 

The garden was fenced like a real cottage garden would be, but the small outside bar was a creative addition. Eliot opened one of the numerous cabinets in the bar and drew out several colourful bottles. He set to work and gestured for Quentin to sit on the swing beside him. He seemed to need to have something to do with his hands. As he shook a metal mixer in the air, he asked, ‘what do you remember?’

‘Bits and pieces, fragments. More feelings than anything.’ Quentin said, ‘I remember Brakebills, sort of, but not being here. I thought I recognised this cottage but I’m not sure.’ Eliot tilted his head to one side, listening intently, and gestured for him to continue. ‘When that girl said your name, I knew it. I don’t know how, but I knew I needed to speak to you.’ 

‘And then I assaulted you with a kiss,’ said Eliot, a faint blush highlighted his cheeks. He reached up and grabbed two tall glasses and drained the liquid into them. 

‘Yeah, I’m not complaining though,’ said Quentin, a small smile curling the corners of his mouth, ‘it was just unexpected.’ 

‘Unexpected.’ Eliot repeated and Quentin knew he was referring to Quentin’s spontaneous arrival back into his life. It was clear that he meant something, a great deal, to Eliot, they must have been close once upon a time, he surmised.

Eliot brought over the drinks and placed himself next to Quentin, leaving a careful space between them. Quentin nudged a fraction closer without realising he was doing so and accepted the drink. It was the colour of sunset and smelt sweet. He took a sip. He noticed Eliot watching him, seeming to be waiting for his approval and he smiled, ‘that’s great,’ he said and meant it. It was much better than the neat whiskey Plover had offered him, making this the second alcoholic beverage he had experienced, that he knew of.

‘If you don’t remember, then what brought you here?’ Eliot inquired. He did not take his eyes off Quentin as though scared he would vanish. 

Quentin nudged the ground with his foot and set the swing into a gentle rocking motion. ‘Christopher Plover, you know, the author of the Fillory books, said it was a good place for me to come.’ 

Eliot’s eyes widened. ‘You spoke to Plover?’ 

‘I did, I found myself there after I thought I was in Fillory. I wanted answers. He was really kind, exactly how I expected him to be.’ Quentin said. 

Eliot made a noise that sounded like a strangled snort. ‘He’s a paedophile, Quentin. He created The Beast by sexually abusing him, repeatedly, as a young child.’ He told him, screwing up his face in distaste. 

Quentin’s face fell in an almost cartoon-like manner as he registered his surprise and dismay. ‘No, really?’ 

‘Oh, a hundred times, yes.’ 

Quentin took a while to absorb this news, it shocked him to his core. His favourite author sexually assaulted a young child? ‘Wait, which child?’ He asked with a hollow feeling in his chest. 

‘Martin Chatwin.’ 

Quentin’s eyes flashed in a mixture of horror and pity. ‘But he seemed so nice.’ He said, his voice now as Quentinish as Eliot had heard from him thus far. Despite the topic of conversation, he felt his mood lift, it affirmed his belief that this really was the Quentin he knew and loved. At least, that was a fallacy he was willing to buy into. 

‘Nasty business, yes, now putting that truth bomb to one side, can we go back to the part where you said you remembered being in Fillory?’ Eliot had already drained his glass dry and placed it slowly on the ground, eyes narrowed, ‘you were there recently?’ he pressed. 

‘I was in a place that looked a whole lot like Fillory,’ Quentin confirmed, ‘but Plover,’ he said the name with distaste now, ‘said it had been destroyed and so we thought maybe I was in the new world, the one he said our friends created?’ He looked at Eliot, eye’s questioning. Eliot though remained silent. But it was a tense kind of silence. His body was wired, he seemed to be hanging on Quentin’s every word. ‘Do you know about the,’ he searched his mind, ‘the Rapture, I think Plover called it? After some Beast and dead, er, people destroyed it, somehow?’ Quentin asked him. 

Eliot drew in a long steady breath. ‘I know of it. Margo, Josh, Alice, and Fen, they created it from the World Seed. I saw them do it. This is important, Q, did you see any of them?’ 

Quentin shook his head, ‘I didn’t meet anyone. I kind of just wandered around. I might not have even been there for all I know but it looked like Fillory, at least the Fillory I read about, only different. There were all these earthquakes. And one time I was in what I thought might have been the Flying Forest? But great parts of it were dead, burnt.’ 

Eliot sat back, absorbing what Quentin was telling him. Quentin could sense his brain working hard. ‘We haven’t seen them since,’ Eliot said. He sighed, ‘we’ve no idea where they are. We’ve looked, but we can’t find them.’ His eyes were cast downwards and Quentin resisted the compulsion to touch him, to reassure him. He didn’t know how he could reassure anyone, all he had were small jumbled pieces of himself, nothing he could do anything with. Eliot was still a stranger to him, one he felt drawn to, one he felt he remembered, but a stranger all the same. ‘I missed you, so much,’ Eliot said. ‘I thought of ways to get you back, I really did, but I didn’t know how to do it without messing everything up.’ 

Quentin could see the pain on Eliot’s face, and something about it reminded him of a time he thought he might have also felt that kind of pain, more than once. This time he didn’t resist, he placed a careful hand on Eliot’s knee and gave it a squeeze, then withdrew, feeling uncertain. Eliot continued, ‘And you died to s-save me, to save us all, but it was because of me, and I didn’t, I didn’t get to say good-bye.’ Eliot’s voice which had been in danger of breaking choked off completely on the last word. He took a deep, unsteady breath, and with obvious difficulty, then said, ‘I went to Jane Chatwin, I tried Q, I really tried.’ Then, something seemed to release inside him and he buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking with quiet, suppressed sobs. 

Quentin tilted his head to one side in sympathy, ‘It’s not your fault, El,’ he said, falling casually into the use of a nickname. He couldn’t see any way how this beautiful man could be responsible for his death. Eliot did not remove his hands, he seemed to sink deeper into grief. 

‘Talk to me,’ Quentin said, hoping his voice was soothing and not demanding, ‘tell me what happened.’ 

‘God, I wouldn’t even know where to start,’ said Eliot, his voice was still shaky, but he had removed his hands and was now wiping his eyes with the backs of them. That was progress at least. 

‘Start at the beginning,’ Quentin offered, ‘isn’t that where all good stories should start?’ 

Eliot huffed a laugh. ‘You were a terrible storyteller.’ 

Quentin smiled in response, ‘hey, I read stories, not tell them,’ he said, wondering if this was true. ‘Tell me about when I first came to Brakebills, let’s start there.’

Eliot told him. He told him about being his guide and showing him the exam room, how he and Margo had gotten close with him. He told him about his relationship with Alice too: ‘you were so hot for each other, but both so repressed,’ he said with a smile, ‘and fuck was that a dramatic relationship.’ He told him about The Beast coming to Brakebills, and about Julia, his best friend not being admitted. He carried on for some time, occasionally backtracking and adding in more details. At one point, he fetched them another drink and told him about the timeline they had spent together, or what he remembered of it, then later still, he bought a silver bucket over and two comedically large straws so they could drink further without being interrupted. Quentin had not eaten since his pizza which might have been that morning or might have been months ago and he was beginning to get light-headed. He found it relaxing being in Eliot’s company. Most of what Eliot told him sounded foreign, like a tale which would happen to someone far grander, far braver than himself. But at times he found himself laughing alongside Eliot when Eliot recounted the time he’d almost convinced Quentin and Alice to take turns sucking off a horse, and at numerous other times as the conversation progressed and the alcohol loosened them both. It was sounding more, and more to Quentin that Fillory was an absurd place and that all his teachers at Brakebills were just a kitten’s whisker away from full-blown psychosis. 

‘Magic really does make everything ridiculous,’ Quentin said, wiping a tear from his eyes. They had slumped to the ground at this point, his head resting on Eliot’s shoulder. 

Eliot chuckled, ‘yes, yes it does.’ But then he became somber. ‘It’s dark at times, too. People die because of it. You died because of it. In the mirror world. You had to cast a spell, and magic can’t be cast there, and poof,’ he mimed an explosion, ‘you were gone, though you took out Everett too, which was useful.’ 

‘What spell did I cast?’ said Quentin, imagining a grandiose spell of a magnitude sufficient for destroying not only him but a super-powered supervillain (Eliot’s description of Everette). 

‘Urm… a spell of minor mending…’ Eliot glanced sideways at him, ‘you did manage to fix the mirror though and that was important.’ Quentin blinked up at him, ‘a spell of minor mending killed me?’ 

‘Yup.’ A split-second later they were laughing so hard they could barely breathe. 

‘Quentin?’ a female voice called his name in disbelief. Quentin looked up to see a woman with brown wavy hair standing over him, torn between an expression of annoyance and wonderment. Behind her stood a tall man with rich dark skin and carefully ironed suit which was, Quentin noticed through a haze, spotted with cat hair. Next to them, stood two other girls, one of whom he thought might have been the girl he had followed to Eliot’s classroom.

Quentin regained his composure, ‘oh, hi,’ he said, then his face crumpled and he and Eliot burst out into laughter again. Quentin lost his balance, which is extremely difficult to do when already sat on the floor and usually requires copious amounts of alcohol to achieve, and fell onto his side. 

‘So… maybe not evil then?’ said someone, one of the girls. 

From his position on the floor, Quentin could see the girl who had just spoken, she had a hand placed on her hip and was eyeing him in curiosity, her curly hair flipped in a side-parting. Quentin considered the third, final girl taking in the bouncing curls and ebony skin and decided it was the one he had followed, probably. He waved at her or tried to before he gave up and lay flat-out on the floor instead. 

‘What the actual fuck?’ the first girl snapped. 

‘Hey Julia,’ said Eliot. He refused to make eye contact and contented himself instead with slurping the remains of the bucket through his straw. 

The trio of girls, and the man, stared down at them. Then, realising she was not going to get anything useful out of them, Julia pointed toward the cottage. ‘Inside,’ she said. Her voice was firm and Quentin found himself complying. He got to his feet, swaying, the ground spinning underneath him, and Eliot held him up — though this was perhaps not as helpful as Eliot had intended, given he was in almost as bad a condition as Quentin. Together, they made their clumsy, stumbling way into the cottage. 

It had reached dinner time and the cottage should have been crowded given the recent influx of Physical Kids, but though it possessed roomy living spaces, the cottage had only a small number of bedrooms and Fogg, in a rare act of kindness, had allowed for Eliot’s friend’s old bedrooms to remain uninhabited. 

‘Will someone kindly explain what is going on?’ came Fogg’s gruff voice, ‘were you the intruder we thought we’d had earlier?’ Julia’s eyes flashed to his, understanding dawning on her face. Between looking after Hope, falling asleep, then waking to the news that her closest friend was possibly alive again, she had completely forgotten about the intruder. 

‘Huh?’ Quentin said, which was unhelpful of him, he knew, but he could not seem to get his thoughts in order. 

‘Someone sober him up,’ Julia snapped. It was clear from her face that she was holding onto her sanity through sheer force of will alone. 

Plum and Kady headed to the kitchen. They returned five minutes later with two large cups of coffee and two ham sandwiches. Eliot had been consuming plenty of ham sandwiches of late and there were ingredients ready to hand. 

By this time, Julia had knelt down by Quentin’s knees and was stroking his leg, peering up into his face, Fogg was sat rather stiffly in a second armchair, and Charlton and Eliot were conferring quietly in the corner. Only Todd seemed to be at a loss for anything to do and contented himself with returning back to the sofa, waiting to see how this all played out, and privately wondering if he had somehow accidentally consumed some of Eliot’s not-so-secret stash of mushrooms when he’d raided Eliot’s snack selection an hour ago. Julia took charge of one of the cups and plates and forced them into Quentin’s hands. Eliot sauntered over and took the remaining ones. He missed the unreadable expression on Charlton’s face, but Todd didn’t. He gestured to the sofa beside him and Charlton took a seat, Eliot hovered for a moment, then joined them, his eyes never leaving Quentin. 

Showing the restraint of a Queen, Julia resisted questioning Quentin further until he had finished his sandwich and drunken half of his coffee. Quentin had made a face when he’d taken the first sip as though it was his first time drinking coffee but at Julia’s insistence, he had persevered. Plum and Kady seated themselves on the floor around the coffee table, completing a kind of out of shape circle and waited. Satisfied that Quentin’s eyes were growing clearer once again Julia spoke. ‘Who are you?’ she asked Quentin. His mannerisms, as familiar to her as her own, were all Quentin alright, but she didn’t dare let herself believe it was really him, not yet. Through her necklace she heard Penny check in with her, warning her to be careful. It was perhaps a little too late as they had now spent nearly twenty minutes in Quentin’s close company, but she understood his warning all the same. They didn’t yet know what Quentin would do, or if it really was him. 

‘He doesn’t remember who he is,’ came Eliot’s voice from the sofa. 

‘I’m not asking you,’ Julia rounded on him, ‘I’m asking you,’ she stared at Quentin-possibly-not-Quentin with an intensity that unsettled him. 

‘Eliot’s right,’ said Quentin at last, ‘I don’t remember much of who I am or any of you, but I am Quentin. At least, I think I am,’ he frowned, clearly struggling with the concept. 

‘How can you not know who you are?’ Julia said, pressing him for answers. ‘What is the last thing you remember?’ And so, Quentin told her what he’d told Plover, at least the parts he could remember. And as he spoke, the faces came back to him once more and he knew Julia had been there at the dinner table, Kady, and Fogg too, and Eliot, of course, though he didn’t recognise the others. 

‘What did he look like, the man who sent you back?’ Julia asked when he had finished. 

Quentin shook his head, ‘no, not a man, not exactly. More of a…’ he searched for the right word, ‘God.’ 

Julia shared a look with Kady. ‘What kind of God?’ Kady asked him. 

‘I dunno,’ said Quentin. ‘He had one eye,’ he added as he stared into his own memory and a face came into sharper focus, ‘and there were these birds around him, ravens, I think.’ The blurred edges of the memory sharpened further and now he heard the voice; it had echoed all around him and through him. ‘He told me that he could send me back if I wanted to come back. He said they were pleased with me, for some reason, I don’t remember. Something like that I’d volunteered to help, in some way, many times, and that if I wanted, this could be my reward. To return.’ He felt the truth in what he said. He saw Julia mulling this over, chewing on the inside of her mouth.

‘The God you are describing sounds rather like Odin, one of the old Gods’ said Fogg. Julia had to agree, it matched up with her research, he was, after all, one of the easiest God’s to get information on. In the past six months, she had dedicated a not inconsiderable amount of time to the study of all Gods and Goddesses in whatever books she could get her hands on from the library; it seemed prudent, given that their paths kept crossing in some form or another. Though there were still some in the restricted section, which seemed incongruous to Julia. 

‘Hey, what about the three faces you mentioned, the ones that touched your head?’ Plum piped up. ‘Is that why you’ve lost certain memories?’ 

Julia shot her a warning look; she didn’t want anyone to feed Quentin information, she wanted it to come from this Quentin, though her heart had responded as if he was her Quentin, her mind hadn’t, not yet and she remained suspicious. 

Quentin furrowed his brows, ‘your guess is as good as mine,’ he said. 

Choosing to ignore Julia’s look, Plum said, ‘What did they look like?’ Julia decided this was a harmless and useful question and did not comment. 

‘Weird,’ said Quentin. 

When he didn’t elaborate, Kady said, ‘weird how?’

Quentin sighed; he was getting sleepy now. And he was still hungry, despite the sandwich. Plus, he supposed, he was still quite drunk. He longed for a hot shower (he had been taking washes in whatever cold stream he had come across), a bed, and something else he wasn’t entirely sure of but emanated from the lower half of him and his mind honed in on the kiss Eliot had given him. He shifted in his seat, placing a careful leg across his knee. When he had woken up, he had been wearing the clothes he wore now, jeans, and a black T-shirt and hoodie and he wanted fresh ones. He was surprised they didn’t smell though and still remained as soft now as when he had worn them. He filed that under things he couldn’t explain. Summoning his waning focus, he said: ‘They looked the same. Female. But they had this weird vibe. Intense, a little like yours,’ he said to Julia who scrunched up her face, ‘they were wearing long white dresses and were tall, thin, with knotted hair. They were chanting. That’s all I’ve got, I’m afraid.’ He glanced at Eliot, ‘are we done here?’ he asked, hoping that they would just let him be. He considered teleporting himself to the nearest bed. 

He could see they were taken aback at his hint that he’d like to be left alone. Well, what did they expect? He didn’t owe them anything. He knew they were his friends but he was feeling pretty overwhelmed by all the interest in him and attention. He realised he did not like attention being on him. 

‘Hold on,’ said Julia though her face softened as she took in Quentin’s tired eyes, ‘we need to know. No-one just returns from the dead. You could be,’ she hesitated, ‘dangerous,’ she concluded with a wince. As if to disprove her, Quentin slumped lower in his chair. It really was quite comfortable. He could feel sleep nearing despite himself. And as his chin sank to his chest a detail he hadn’t known had been tapping at the back of his mind like a raven’s beak popped into razor-sharp focus, startling him. He sat up, ‘he gave me a message,’ Quentin said, ‘he said war was coming.’ 

‘War was coming?’ Fogg said in alarm. ‘What war?’ But Quentin didn’t have any answers. If he had known more once, it was evading him now. Whatever block was in his mind clamped back down. He stared off into the distance and didn’t answer. 

‘We should get him to the infirmary,’ Julia said, ‘get his head checked.’ She heard Penny say ‘or the cleanroom.’ At her look in the mirror she held, he said, ‘what we don’t know shit about him yet.’ 

‘If it's alright with you guys, I think I’d like to stay here,’ said Quentin. He should after all have the largest say in where he would be sleeping, shouldn’t he?

‘I can’t have you around students until we have ascertained precisely what you are, Quentin, if that is who you actually are. You somehow managed to break into Brakebills and escape my scrying.’ 

Quentin was beginning to get fed up with the suspicion. He had tolerated, he thought, pretty well until now, but it was hard enough dealing with his memory loss and struggling to recount anything about himself without the constant questioning and distrust. He had given them no cause to suspect him of harbouring any kind of ill-content towards anyone. ‘I don’t mean to be rude,’ he said an edge to his voice, ‘but I think the choice is mine.’ 

‘Well, you sure are more assertive than the Quentin we knew.’ Fogg said. 

‘Yeah well, I died.’ Quentin retorted, ‘and it’s been pretty tiring ever since.’ The inherent contradiction in the statement did not escape his notice. 

‘Tell me one thing,’ said Fogg attempting to be reasonable. ‘How did you escape our notice? How did you break into Brakebills?’ 

‘I didn’t break in,’ said Quentin in exhaustion, ‘I just willed myself here. And as for escaping your notice, I just willed myself invisible, like this.’ He summoned his remaining strength and vanished. He heard a collective gasp from the group and Julia grabbed the air where he had been sitting, her hand touched nothing. He rematerialised and she drew back her hand in shock.

Everyone in the room stared, slack-jawed, at him. Eliot let out a small chuckle as though he couldn’t help himself and apologised as heads swivelled toward him. 

‘How did you’ Julia scanned him with her eyes, ‘do that?’

He gave a limp, one-shouldered shrug, ‘again, I don’t know.’ He was resenting having to keep repeating how little he knew or understood, ‘but I can teleport too and glow apparently.’ Glowing came much easier and a moment later a blinding light shot out from every pore of his body. They cringed and shielded their eyes just like Plover had done and he retracted the light into himself, which took a bit more effort than letting it loose had done. 

After some more deliberation during which Quentin possibly dosed off, it was decided that he could stay in his old bedroom. Eliot had been his strongest advocate maintaining that being around familiar settings, however small the familiarity was, could help jump-start his memories. And with reluctance, Fogg agreed. The news of an impending war had unsettled him, and he sensed there was more Quentin either couldn’t or was unwilling to tell them. Perhaps getting him to trust them by offering him some small amount of freedom would help, he considered. 

Ten minutes later, Quentin was guided to his bedroom, by a now nearly sober Eliot, a boy Quentin didn’t know but seemed pleasant though perhaps that was just his quietness that was appealing to him right now, and Julia, came with them. Julia’s expression had changed whilst they were discussing where he could sleep and she now took on a friendly, nurturing demeanour. She fussed with his pillows and pointed out that he still had clothes in his drawers and wardrobe. When he laid down on top of his bed, still fully dressed, she brushed his head as though he were a child and passed him a book which turned out to be the first in the Fillory series. One of numerous copies, she told him, tenderly, that he owned. He found he did not mind this side of her. They murmured goodnight, Eliot casting him a lingering glance as he left and he found himself at alone at last

Before sleeping, Quentin examined his room, touching his objects and felt frustrated when he found he barely recognised most of it. He signed and stripped off his clothes, leaving them in a pile beside his bed and finally slipped under his covers. The bed was blissful, soft, a little chilly but soon warmed up with his body heat. He switched off his light and within moments was asleep. 

Much later that night, Eliot lay in bed beside Charlton. They had discussed the evening, at length, and Charlton had offered a comforting, sympathetic ear. Charlton knew who Quentin was, had seen him in Eliot’s happy place, though suspected Quentin meant a great deal more to Eliot than Eliot had let on. Philosophical by nature, he decided, as he often did, that life was out of his hands, and that what would happen, would happen. All he could do was remain himself and help as much as he could. He hoped he would still be wanted by Eliot; had fallen fast and hard in love with the man next to him. He reached over to kiss him goodnight but found him already asleep.

When the sound of Charlton’s breathing deepened and Eliot was certain he was sleeping, Eliot eased out of bed, making sure so as not to disturb him. He padded softly across the room in bare feet and crept out of the door wincing at the creak it made. He glanced back and saw Charlton still breathing steadily away and wandered down the hallway in the dark. He was wearing just his boxer shorts and the chill in the air brought Goosebumps to his flesh. He shivered and knocked quietly on Quentin’s bedroom door. When there was no answer, he eased it open and slipped inside. ‘Quentin?’ he whispered. 

‘Mmm?’ came a sleepy reply from the bed. 

‘Its Eliot, are you OK?’ 

Quentin smiled to himself in the darkness and rolled onto his side, raising his head a fraction so that Eliot could see him in the faint light of a full moon that glanced through a gap in his curtains. ‘I’m glad you came,’ he told Eliot. This was all the invitation Eliot needed and any doubts that he would be unwanted vanished. Quentin lifted the corner of his cover and Eliot slipped underneath. Quentin gasped as Eliot’s cold feet touched his warm legs and shivered in delight. He faced Eliot and traced a finger down his cheek. As the moonlight cast over the pair of them, Quentin saw Eliot’s face looked smaller than before and vulnerable. For Eliot, this was a moment that had haunted his dreams, making him sweat and wake with a pang of longing and regret. 

The stars aligned and the music of celestial spheres sang tinkle-soft sweet melodies in his ears as Quentin lowered his face and, doing what Quentin had been wanted to do again since it had first happened, took Eliot’s lips in his own. Soft, questioning. Eliot’s mouth yielded and parted, and he felt like he was being kissed by a God. 

Quentin groaned and sank deeper into the lips, entwining a hand in Eliot’s hair. This was life, this was joy. He felt and heard Eliot’s breath quicken and his own responded, elevating. Flashes of kisses, of legs entwined, of Eliot moving inside him, of the sound of them both reaching climax all jumbled together in his mind, releasing themselves like birds emerging from golden cages, flapping their wings in freedom. His body quivered, knowing what it wanted, what it needed. Eliot broke from the kiss, just a fraction, his lips still grazing Quentin’s, ‘are you sure?’ he asked, nuzzling his nose with his own. 

Quentin did not even have to think about it, ‘God, yes,’ he said, ‘a hundred times yes,’ his voice dropped low and husky, repeating a phrase he remembered Eliot using a thousand years ago.

Eliot's throat bobbed as he swallowed and Quentin pressed his lips there. Eliot’s hands roamed along Quentin’s side. Where he touched, nerves fired, where he squeezed, Quentin’s body responded, demanding more. Eliot nudged him on to his back and angled his body so that he was raised slightly over Quentin. ‘You smell so good,’ Eliot murmured, ‘even better than before,’ he trailed kisses down Quentin’s neck and along his collar bone. ‘And taste,’ he relished in the tremor that shook through Quentin, ‘so,’ he bit down on the skin at the base of Quentin’s neck, making him gasp, ‘sweet.’ He soothed over the pain of the bite with his tongue and Quentin inhaled sharply, toes curling against Eliot’s calves. ‘How is that possible? Hmm?’ Eliot let his hand wander down Quentin’s chest and stomach, brushing over the soft hair and finding Quentin hard and ready. He teased Quentin some, circling his hand around, but not quite touching. ‘How?’ he asked again. 

‘I-I don’t know.’ Quentin was finding it difficult to form words. ‘Powers?’ he suggested and then his mind went blank as Eliot moved down the length of his body and took him in his mouth, his hands gripping Quentin’s side. There were silencing wards around the bedrooms in the cottage and Eliot was glad of them when Quentin began to pant, and a cry escaped his mouth. In one tantalizing, slow motion, Eliot drew his mouth up from Quentin’s base to his tip then released him. ‘This isn’t over yet,’ he said, voice low. He sucked in his lips at the look of pure, raw lust on Quentin’s face. 

‘It feels,’ Quentin tried to explain, ‘so much more. I remember bits from before but this, every touch is like…’ he swallowed his words, they weren’t making sense but Eliot reached up and kissed him, ‘I know exactly what you mean. You feel like magic, more than human.’ Quentin’s eyes betrayed a panic inside. ‘I don’t know what is happening to me,’ he admitted. He did not want to lose the moment, but he was scared. There had been so much change, so much he didn’t understand, so much he had learned in the past day about himself, about his life and his friends; they had looked at him like he could have been a monster. Eliot shushed him, and held him close as to Quentin’s complete embarrassment, he found himself crying. Eliot shifted to the side so as not to crush Quentin and they lay like that for a while. Eliot absorbing all Quentin had felt inside the past few months, the loneliness of wandering from place to place, never seeing a single other person, the weirdness of the world he had been in, the confusion, even the shock of finding out Fillory was gone and his favourite author hurt someone so badly they had become a monster, and the fear that he wasn’t human came crashing down on him. What it meant, what he was, he didn’t know, and the not knowing scared him more than anything else. He did not have to explain any of this to Eliot. 

‘We’ve spent a lifetime together,’ Eliot murmured into his hair as he held him, ‘I’m am not a stranger to your moods and this is a lot for anyone to take in. For me too,’ he said nuzzling the top of his head. The words soothed Quentin. He lifted his head and found Eliot’s lips. Eliot tasted the salty tang of Quentin’s tears and then Quentin was kissing him with an urgency that set his heart racing. This time they didn’t stop. This time Quentin touched Eliot everywhere with his hands, with his mouth, and Eliot explored Quentin’s body too. They brought each other to climax, Eliot moving inside Quentin whose hands curled around the sheet as he shuddered his final release. And then they fell back exhausted, Quentin settling into the space inside Eliot’s shoulder and he felt safe, home.


End file.
